


tirami sù

by fangirlflail



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Food Porn, M/M, Parent!bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlflail/pseuds/fangirlflail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James runs a tight operation at Skyfall, Chicago’s finest steakhouse. So when his niece and new sous-chef turn everything upside down...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a re-interpretation of the German film, Mostly Martha, its English rendition, No Reservations and Skyfall. A rough timeline and some dialogue are lifted directly from the films, which are by no means, my creation.
> 
> Coverart on tumblr: http://fangirlflail.tumblr.com/post/44996157765/restaurant-au-james-runs-a-tight-operation-at

“I'd like to start with some simple word association.”

A pause.

“Knife.”

“Cut.”

“Chef.”

“ _Provacateur_.”

“Heart.”

“Artichoke.”

“Bird.”

“Chicken.”

“M.”

“Bitch.”

“Country.”

“Cooking.”

“Skyfall.”

James stops himself. “Done. We’re done.”

Dr. Hall scribbles a note. “James, do you know why you’re here?”

“Because M will fire me unless I come every week.”

“And why does she insist on you receiving therapy?”

James smirks. “Something about my people skills.”

\--

“Order in!” Eve skewers the slip of paper on the metal spindle and disappears back through the double doors.

James glances at the order and shouts, “Two presets and one surf & turf. I need the vegetable sides, grill the kebabs and prep the horseradish.”

“Aye aye!”

“Where is my lobster?”

“Here, Chef!”

James turns the rubbed steak over using tongs and wipes his free hand on the folded apron at his waist.

“You know they’ll want to see you once they finish.”

James looks over his shoulder. Eve has reappeared to take a plate. “They _always_ want to see you.”

James makes a noncommittal grunt and removes the steak. He places it on the plate Eve is slowly sliding across the stainless steel work top between them.

“Tanner!”

The Saucier appears instantly, completing the dish and both disappear.

James turns back to the grill, laying down two skewers of shrimp. The phone rings. “Someone answer that!” He squirts a mixture of sake and red wine onto the flames.

Sévérine seizes the phone. “ _Skyfall_ Kitchen. How may I direct your call?”

Tanner laughs over his pot of rue.

“It’s your sister.” Sévérine wiggles the phone at James. James points at the skewers and Sévérine switches places with him.

“Phillipa?”

“I know you’re working but I just wanted to let you know that we’ve boarded the plane and are on schedule so we’ll be there around nine thirty.”

“Okay.” James makes a wild gesture to attract Sévérine’s attention and conducts a series of hand signals only she can understand.

“James?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“Don’t you dare think about preparing anything for when we get there. We ate at the airport _Chili’s_ so we’ll be fine.”

James makes a face he knows his sister can sense over the phone.

“I love you. We’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Uncle James!” pipes a voice from behind Phillipa’s.

“See you soon.” James hangs up.

Eve powers through the door and flaps her hand in a _well?_

“Coming.” James takes the tongs from Sévérine and sets a salmon fillet in a pan on a separate range. With a brush he paints a stripe of miso-black sesame paste. He turns back to the grill where Sévérine rotated the shrimp skewers. With his bare hands, James grabs the end of the sticks and sets them crossed over a mountain of plated garlic mash. “Go.”

As Eve exits, M enters. “James, the Wal-”

“Waltons want to see me. I know. Tell them I’m busy. Doing my job.”

M purses her lips at him through the hanging ladles. James tries to ignore her.

“Now.” M leaves and James calls out a few more instructions before pulling off his apron. He follows M onto the floor into the cool dark. Although the restaurant is packed, the noise level is subdued compared to that of the kitchen. James hates it.

M takes James’ elbow and pulls him up to a table of four.

“James!” Mr. Walton reaches for a handshake, which James reluctantly accepts. “How are you? Emma working you to the bone, eh?” M’s lips thin and James tries not to grin. “Didn’t think we’d get to see you.”

“How was it?” James asks.

“Oh, just wonderful! The duck confit!” Mrs. Walton croons. James tips his head in thanks.

“Where are our manners?” Mr. Walton waves at his guests, a plump middle-aged couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Durbin.”

Mrs. Durbin offers a jeweled hand to James. M nudges him from behind and James takes the hand. “My pleasure.”

“As you may know,” says Mrs. Walton, “James is the best chef in Chicago _and_ he’s written quite a few books. Where was your last trip, James?”

“Macau.”

Mr. and Mrs. Durbin gasp and Mr. Walton smiles like a proud father. “Studied at MI6 Culinary Academy. You know the-”

But James doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He’s looking across the floor where a customer is clearly disagreeing with Eve over a dish.

“Excuse me,” James says and powers between Mr. and Mrs. Durbin. Eve has taken the plate from the customer. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh! The chef,” the man has a smart-ass look about him. It’s his face. Clean shaven but hair gelled in a giant swoop across his forehead.

“I can deal with this, James,” Eve tries. James never backs down.

“My lobster is overdone.”

“Impossible,” James takes the plate to inspect the colour of the meat. Even in the dim lighting he can judge the texture.

“Look, I understand that it can get really busy back there, especially with so much lobster going around tonight,” starts the customer. James knows he’s fishing for a freebie by trying to play it off like he’s the victim of this elaborate plot. “Maybe you forgot this one at the bottom of the pot or something. I get it.”

“I’ll just get you a new one,” Eve tugs at the plate but James does not relinquish it.

“There’s nothing wrong with this lobster. We prepare every dish made-to-order. Maybe you’ve had one too many trips to _Long John Silver’s_.”

The man stares for a moment, then throws his napkin dramatically and almost runs M over on the way out. Eve tries not to grin, tucking her face behind her tray and scurrying back to the kitchen. James follows, but he knows M is right on his tail. As soon as they clear the double doors, she lets him have it.

“That customer is paying good money to get the food they asked for!”

“So you’re just willing to absorb the price of another lobster, which, by the way, at market price, is nearly sixty dollars?” James replies.

“Of course not. He’s a barbarian, but that is our job. We make the customer happy, no matter how much of an undignified cretin they are! This is my restaurant, James. You will not dismiss my customers. You will not make a scene in the dining room! The only reason I keep you here is because you are one of the best chefs in Chicago. You had better hope you stay on top.”

M leaves.

James picks up his apron. “ _One of_ the best chefs?”

Everyone is suddenly very interested in their work.

\--

They’re cleaning the kitchen for the night when it happens. The phone rings.

“We’re closed,” Eve groans. She’s already got her wool-coat on and is shouldering her purse. Tanner and three Mexican dishwashers have their hands submerged in the huge stainless steel basins. Sévérine is cling-wrapping things for the freezer.

The phone rings again.

And again.

“Pick up the god damn phone,” James calls, rolling a cart of fixings into the walk-in cooler.

He hears Eve answer it just as the door closes behind him, sealing the sound-proof box. He concentrates on doing the inventory. James takes the pen and clipboard hanging from one of the racks and starts marking up the chart.

He’s startled when Sévérine opens the door. “James.”

“Hmm?”

“The phone is for you.”

“Take a message. We’re closed.”

“You need to answer it.”

James turns and sees Sévérine’s eyebrows, typically curved into delicate arches, now anchored toward the bridge of her nose. James lets the clipboard and pen drop and follows her out to where Eve is holding the phone. Everyone is now watching.

James lifts the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello. This is Dr. Aaron Richardson of Rush Medical. Are you Mr. James Bond?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“We are sorry to inform you that your sister and niece were in a car accident.”

James freezes.

“Your niece is in intensive care. I’m sorry, Mr. Bond, but your sister didn’t make it.”

James nods into the phone. When he realizes that the doctor can’t see him, it’s already too late. The man’s talking about arrangements and giving him information. James must have made passable answers because when he wakes up his fingers are still gripping the receiver, but it’s back in its holder and Sévérine has a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t need to hear it from James. Somehow she knows.

“I’m so sorry, James.”

He lets go of the phone and turns. It’s just Sévérine. Everyone else has magically disappeared.

She drives him to the hospital. She doesn’t come inside, just drops him off at the entrance and gives him a lingering look. James approaches the general help desk, gets redirected, takes an elevator, and comes to another help desk, gets directed once more, and walks down a hallway. He reaches the right number, but doesn’t go inside because a man in a white coat is coming toward him with a purpose. So he hangs in the doorway.

“Are you James Bond?” the doctor asks.

“Yes.”

“Dr. Richardson. We spoke on the phone.” The doctor steps back, encouraging James into the hall. “Vesper’s going to be fine. Just a few days to make sure she’s stable.”

A pager or cell phone goes off and for once it’s not James’. He doesn’t even flinch.

“I’ll be back to check on her again.” Dr. Richardson touches James’ shoulder briefly and walks away.

James settles into the bedside armchair. Vesper’s hair is dark loose curls. Her face is bruised and scratched. He realizes she looks a lot like Phillipa and some man he may never meet.

\--

When James wakes the next morning he remembers it all. He remembers because Vesper is staring at him with hollow eyes. She asks the question he can see she already knows the answer to, but doesn’t want to believe.

“Is mom dead?”

James closes his eyes slowly in assent. Vespers starts to cry.

\--

James pushes open the back door to _Skyfall_. The kitchen is empty except for M who is studying a few sheets of paper. When she sees him, she hastily taps them together into a manila folder.

“James, what are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, M.”

“You need to leave. You are supposed to be taking time off.”

“I’m fine. Vesper’s in the hospital until Friday.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The doctor said so.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” M raps James’ arm with her folder and leaves.

\--

At the end of the day M finds James behind the bar in a slump, his chin tucked and his calloused hand wrapped around a crystal glass of whiskey or scotch. She can’t tell because there are too many empty bottles around him. She pauses, disgusted but sympathetic. Against her better judgment, she kneels beside him.

“James. You need to go home. You need to leave and not come back until you are ready.”

“I can cook.”

“You can’t and you won’t. Settle whatever you have to and then come in.”

He doesn’t argue because he passes out. M sighs through her teeth and calls Tanner to help get James home.

\--

Friday comes and Vesper is ready to leave the hospital. Their conversations have been short. She asks if she can still go to school, whether she’s going to get shunt from foster family to foster family, if she can still have her things or if they’ve been repossessed to pay for her hospital bills. James tries to answer with a straight face. He can already tell she’s going to be a handful.

They release Vesper in the afternoon and James takes her to his apartment. He shows her the lay of the place: the living room leading to the kitchen, the doors to her room, his room, and the bathroom. She’s soaking it in, studying every line, tracing every corner she finds. James doesn’t know why he feels uncomfortable with the scrutiny of an eight year old girl, but he does. It’s awkward.

When she finally settles in her bare room, she asks, “When will my stuff get here?”

“Hopefully tomorrow.”

Vesper sinks into the bed, holding one of the few possessions they salvaged from her backpack and suitcase: a Steiff elephant. It’s the most expensive possession she owns and the most loved. It had cost Phillipa so much she had complained to James over the phone the day they got it.

“It’s this fancy German brand. Super old. But she saw it at the museum and she had to have it.”

“Why couldn’t you get one like it? E-bay or something?”

“Who wants a second-hand stuffed animal? Anyway, I can hardly say no to my only daughter. She’s adorable, James. You’re going to spoil her rotten, I know it.”

James’ hand clutches the door frame. Vesper doesn’t notice or if she does, she doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll make dinner.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly four.”

“That’s too early for dinner.”

“Late lunch then?”

“I’m not hungry.”

James quells his annoyance. “Maybe you’ll be hungry once you smell it.”

Vesper toys with the elephant’s ears.

James makes dinner: seared trout, grilled zucchini and yellow squash, and quinoa topped with roasted pumpkin seeds.

Vesper doesn’t eat any.

\--

James pours himself a drink. When he drains the glass he thinks he has enough nerve to speak with Vesper again. He’s not sure what’s more preposterous: that someone wouldn’t eat his food or that he’s latched onto the need to gain Vesper’s approval.

He sets the glass on his desk and walks up to Vesper’s open door. “Hey.”

Vesper looks up. She’s found a book of poetry buried behind the piles of cookbooks and is flipping through without reading.

“I have to check on the restaurant. You’ll be fine for a couple hours, right?”

Vesper nods and James relaxes. “There’s a phone out in the hall. I wrote the restaurant and my cell number right by it. Call me if you need anything. The restaurant is only fifteen or twenty minutes from here.”

Vesper shrugs so he grabs his coat, picks up his keys by the door and makes sure to lock it tight. He’s halfway down the stairwell when he realizes Phillipa would kill him for leaving Vesper by herself so he stops on the first floor and knocks on #2’s door. It’s a Friday night, which means the door swings open to a chorus of yawps and, “Oh my freakin’ god, finally! Did you bring the-”

Twenty-one year old Emily Brenson stops talking.

“Hi, Emily.”

“Mr. Bond,” Emily sputters, trying to hide the table of people arguing about goblins behind her.

“Game night?” James asks, more friendly than usual. Emily laughs nervously, which means loudly. He knows she and her friends play D&D every weekend.

“Yeah. Just a couple of friends.”

“Listen, I was wondering if I could ask for a favour.”

Emily’s listening. Who doesn’t listen to Mister _Hot Hot Mc-Oh-My-God-Why-Aren’t-You-Always-Shirtless_ from apartment #7? She plays it off as casual, “Sure.”

“My niece has come to stay with me and I have to run to work for a bit. Can you half keep an eye on her?”

“No prob!” Emily reaches out her hand and James gives her a spare key.

“Thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

\--

The restaurant is packed when James walks in. M is distracted by a customer at the bar, but somehow senses James through the throng of people waiting to be seated. James doesn’t see her. He’s bee-lining to the kitchen.

Just as he approaches he hears laughter leak through the door.

“What the hell?” James swings it open. The laughter is Sévérine’s. She sees James and stops mid-giggle, turns to someone standing by the range. James traces her gaze to the culprit – a gangly kid with thick glasses and wild hair. When he notices James, his mouth splits into a grin.

“James Bond.” He steps around the table and extends a hand. “Truly, it is an honour. Double-oh class of MI6! I can’t believe it’s you. Your Chicago dry-rub sirloin: a classic.”

When James doesn’t respond, M appears between them. “James, this is Matthew Dering, owner of _Q_ on Grand.”

James frowns. He’s heard the name before. “You must be joking.”

“James.” M’s voice is a warning.

Q tips his head. “Why? Because I’m not wearing a toque and a double-breasted jacket?” He’s right. He has a black butcher’s apron folded over a pair of dark jeans and a pinstriped dress shirt.

“Because you still have spots.”

“My complexion is hardly relevant.”

“Your competence is.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

Everyone in the kitchen can tell that something threatens to explode between them.

M diffuses it. “James. With me. Now.” M drags James from the kitchen. For such a small woman, she is fierce. James glares through the porthole window to where Q is glaring straight back but out of punching range.

“You needed a break and we were understaffed. Matthew became available so I took him.”

“M, I get to choose who works for me. This kid looks like he decided to try upgrading from a lemonade stand. What is he? Fifteen?”

“Matthew is perfectly capable. He graduated from London’s finest culinary academy. He had the chance to work for the _Peninsula_ and chose us.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to work with you.”

That shuts James up.

“Look. He’s hip. He’s fresh.”

“He’s a deconstructivist gastronomic-”

“God knows we need change around here!” M huffs and leaves. When James returns to the kitchen everyone is pretending to pick up where they left off except Q. He’s standing straight against the table with his arms crossed, waiting.

“Q.” James relents, offering a hand.

“007.” Q shakes it. His lips curve into a smirk.

\--

James returns to the apartment and finds Emily closing his door.

“Oh hey,” she says and hands him the key. “She just went to sleep I think.”

“Thank you so much, Emily. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing,” she replies. “She seems really sweet and totally dominated us at Dun--our games.”

“Wasn’t too brutal was it?”

Emily laughs and starts down the stairs.

James has an idea. “Hey Emily. Do you think you could babysit for me? Only in the evenings. Vesper will start school soon and I can pick her up and bring her back, but from four to eleven…”

Emily considers for a moment.

“Just let me know what you want to charge,” James tries.

“I’ll get back to you,” Emily waves and her goodnight echoes up the stairwell.

James enters the apartment and locks the door behind him. He unties his shoes and places them on the mat, then checks on Vesper. She is asleep, or at least good at pretending. Either way, James decides he’ll ask her about how things went tomorrow.

He cleans himself up and decompresses to a glass of scotch and infomercials.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, James turns the light on in his office at _Skyfall_ and sets his briefcase on top of a few half-filled order forms.

“You know that would be a lot quicker if you had a-”

“Jesus Christ!” James flinches.

Q is leaning against the door, one foot tucked behind. “Don’t think he can help you much with GP Foods.”

“It’s nine in the morning. What the hell are you doing here?”

Q makes a show of posing. He’s wearing the white double-breasted jacket with the top corner folded down and an apron to his knees. “I factored in a few hours for assembling myself to look more like a chef, but realized I didn’t need to prove that to my new anger-management-issues boss. Especially given that I run my own restaurant, but by then it was too late.” James doesn’t lose focus. Q sees he’s not getting anywhere and offers, “M said she wanted to discuss the logistics.”

“M’s here?”

“I expect she’ll be arriving shortly.”

They fall into silence. James doesn’t ask Q into the office. There is only one chair and James is hovering above it. The room is quite small, the size of a walk in pantry. James has crammed every available shelf with reference books and notes of his travels. Many boxes still contain theoretical recipes scribbled on napkins and hotel coasters. The desk is bare, only a cupful of pens and the aforementioned GP Food order forms. James sees Q taking mental notes.

“Why don’t you have a computer?”

“I don’t believe in them.”

“You don’t believe in-”

“I am what you youngsters would call ‘old school’.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Old enough to be your father.”

“Only if you started very-”

“I did.”

M walks in. She can tell she’s interrupted some kind of argument but she doesn’t care. She addresses Q. “Right. You answer to James.” As if to extinguish any smugness before it begins, M rounds on James. “I don’t care how it’s done from there, so long as the orders go in and the food comes out, nobody is killed or mortally wounded in the kitchen, and the customers do not end up with wine spilled down their paying fronts. Is that understood?”

Q’s holding back a smile and James knows it. He doesn’t know how he does because Q’s serious nod and calm lips say nothing. James nods as well. He hands M a few sheets of wine recommendations and a copy of the menu.

“Good.” M leaves.

Q waits.

“Here.” James hands him a 5x7 sheet with the dishes for the week. “I split the menu.”

Q runs down the names. James catches him mutter, “Right. Old school.” Slightly louder, “I’m in charge of three dishes out of how many?”

James shrugs.

“Sévérine said she usually manages half and nearly all the desserts.”

“Your point?”

“And she’s _pregnant_.”

James pauses. Q’s eyes are dark. His nose points upward. James holds up another card. “Fine. Take the desserts.”

“What? All?” Q takes the card and leaves before James can argue.

\--

James tries to ignore the fact that Q has his rear sticking out into the aisle between the sink and counter.

“Would you mind?”

Q doesn’t respond.

James awkwardly slides his dirty pan into the sink and stares at Q. He has earbuds in. They’re connected to a phone in his rear pocket. James clears his throat. Q’s bent over a dessert flight: pumpkin crème brulee with cinnamon whip cream beside it, a square of bitter chocolate and fresh berries arranged in a nest of caramelized sugar, and a poached pear sliced atop a shot glass of house made vanilla bean ice cream. Q finishes torching the crème brulee and straightens. James taps his shoulder and Q removes his right plug. “Yes?”

“You should do that before setting the meltables."

“I did. I realized after that I hadn’t done enough.” Q slid the plate toward Eve. “It wasn’t the right colour.”

“You could’ve put the plate back in the fridge to keep cool while you worked.”

“Too much time spent moving back and forth. Besides, a little melted ice cream never hurt anyone.”

“Strange coming from the man who seems in all other respects to be neurotically meticulous.” James nods at Q’s self-made work station. Each utensil lay straight like tools on a surgeon’s table.

“Oh so you noticed?” Q jokes. “Though I suppose it’s hard not to given the state of your kitchen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s easier to find a needle in a haystack than a zester in here.”

“I know where my tools are.”

“You’re the only one who does,” Q says. “Over the past five minutes I’ve watched those tongs travel to every surface of this kitchen. I’m pretty sure they didn’t teach you that at MI6.”

“Makes the food taste better.”

“That’s disgusting. Cross-contamination is not a valid seasoning.”

“A little bit of germs never hurt anyone,” James echoes Q’s sentiment and walks away.

\--

Sévérine gets along fine with Q and it annoys James. He knows that Sévérine will have to leave soon but he doesn’t want to think about it. Now it’s too late thanks to M. Sévérine’s been showing Q the ropes, so he knows his way around the kitchen entirely. James watches Sévérine giggle at Q’s strange methods when he isn’t looking. Dear god, she’s been reduced to a sorority girl fawning over some nerdy frat boy.

“Sévérine,” James gestures to the dessert tray and makes a _hurry it up_ motion. Her smile shrinks back and she sets to work immediately.

\--

James and Q send each other looks when they think the other isn’t paying attention. The other is _always_ paying attention, and most of the time the looks are insulting. James hates the way Q has to control everything, works incredibly fast but halts time for the details, and ignores the world around him by keeping his ears plugged the whole time. Probably listening to punk rock.

Q can’t stand James’ abrasive treatment of tools, wasteful habits and stubbornness. Q feels like James is constantly breathing down his neck. Q’s learning, but only because he makes an effort to study James’ cooking strategy from afar. James doesn’t _teach_ anything.

It escalates to a showdown wherein James, annoyed that Q has been deaf to his calls for the past two minutes (or is actively ignoring him, he can’t tell), strides over and yanks the headphones out of his ears and into a pot of asparagus cream soup. The soup was unintentional and would cost them.

Q stares at the headphones sinking and un-plugs the other end from his phone. He doesn’t seem disgusted, just annoyed.

“What the hell is your problem? I’ve been calling you for the seasonal platter.”

Q fishes out the ruined headphones and drops them into a bin. Everyone is watching now, though some are fake-cleaning and stirring. “And you shall have it as soon as I’m done.”

“You work by _my_ timetable, Q. We need to coordinate.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that when you split the menu?”

“Splitting the menu doesn’t change the timing.”

“I know what this is really about, 007.”

Now James is interested. He crosses his arms.

Q smiles, “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want me here. I see you’re desperately scrabbling to find any shred of evidence against me. I’ll do you the favour and leave, but not because of your tantrum, no, I’ll go because I can choose where my talents will be appreciated. Obviously they are wasted here, despite your reputation.”

M catches the last bit as she comes through the door with Eve. She witnesses Q folding his apron up and placing it on the counter.

“What’s going on here?”

“Thank you very much for the opportunity, M,” Q dips his head, “but it seems my services are no longer required.”

“James, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” James replies. He returns to his place.

“Matthew, you can’t leave. It’s the middle of the dinner shift. We need you,” M reasons. “I’m the bloody owner.”

Q stops in front of her. “I’m sorry, M, but this is his kitchen and he makes the rules.”

“James!” M demands.

Everyone is staring at him. Sévérine gives him a small shake of the head. Tanner shrugs. Eve has her hands clasped to the empty tray in front of her, her eyes staring at the back of M’s head. James wonders if this is like M’s therapy threat. He doesn’t take the chance.

“Fine. He can stay.”

But Q doesn’t jump back into cooking, he milks it. “No. Not good enough. If I’m going to stay I want to feel welcome.”

James glares at M, who sends it back with an added, _just say it so we can be done with this_ stitched to every crease on her face.

“You’ve got to be joking,” James replies. Q isn’t. “Fine. I’d like for you to stay. Happy?”

“Just so.” Q picks up his apron. “By the way, you should dispose of that soup.”

\--

James manages to get Vesper to school on time the next day. He packs her a lunch – piece of fruit, bag of chips, home-made sandwich. This continues for a few days. He figures it’s what kids like. When she comes home, she skips dinner. She claims she has a lot of homework to do. Since they’re on shaky ground, James doesn’t question it. He tells her that if she gets hungry, she can search the fridge.

James doesn’t realize she isn’t eating anything until he receives a call from the lunch-room monitor at her school. Vesper’s been giving away her lunch to other students, she says. Just wanted to make sure you knew.

So James asks Dr. Hall. He suggests something simpler or delivery.

Why is he still in therapy?

James asks Sévérine during the lunch shift. She tells him just about the same.

“Kids like basic food.”

“I gave her a sandwich. It doesn’t get much more basic than that.”

“Try Lunchables? Bagels? Pasta?”

Q appears in front of them to take a ladle and James doesn’t want to answer until he’s gone.

Sévérine continues, “What did her mom make?”

“Phillipa never cooked anything. She made canned ravioli and bought rotisserie chicken from under a heat lamp if it was a particularly special night.”

“Well, there you go,” Sévérine replies. “Vesper needs that. Buy a can of Chef Boyardi.”

James glares at her like she’s broken an unspoken kitchen rule. “It’s against my principles. They would rip my MI6 diploma in half for that.”

Sévérine laughs and James feels better. He’s in comfortable territory now, despite Q’s lingering gaze. Sévérine puts a hand on her stomach. “Look, I know I don’t have any experience, but from what I’ve heard, parenting is a lot of compromise, especially on those principles of yours.”

\--

James is the head chef. At three it is his job to prepare a big enough meal to sustain his staff through the dinner hours. He chooses hearty starches and lots of protein. M is busy pouring wine. Tanner helps dish out plates. The whole company is setting up except Q. He’s curled up in a chair with a tiny notebook in his hands, furiously scribbling. James fills a bowl with clam linguine and brings it over.

“Q.”

Q looks up. “No, thank you.” He goes back to writing.

“What are you doing anyway?”

Q flashes the journal at him. James sees a completed eight pointed-star patterned grid of numbers on one page and a half-filled crossword on the other. “Pocket puzzle book.”

James feels ridiculous saying it, “You have to eat something.”

Q stops writing and frowns up at him. “I never eat in the afternoon.”

James refuses to voice his suspicion that Q might be on a diet of his gastronomic foam.

“Look. It’s my job to keep you alive. So just eat the damn pasta.” James drops the plate in front of Q. The clatter is loud in the sudden lull of conversation. M and Sévérine glance at James and then at Q.

Q makes a bitch face and settles respectively in the chair. With both feet planted, he takes a forkful and eats. James watches the man’s face pause as he rolls the taste over his tongue. It’s definitely something Q has never had before. James smirks and goes back to serving the rest. It’s not an apology, but it’s close enough.

\--

That night, James makes do with a bottle of 1996 Italian borolo. M won’t let him anywhere near the liquor cabinet, so James is restricted to the house wines. He needs the drink to focus. He catches Q watching him and when Q notices James is looking back, he ducks down into his plate. James raises his glass, “Q?”

Q shakes his head. “I never drink while I’m working.”

“Never?”

“Dulls my senses. As a chef I need unbiased taste buds, but surely you already know that.”

“No. I practice the drunken cooking method.”

“No wonder your dishes are heavy.”

“My dishes aren’t heavy.”

Q raises his eyebrows but his eyes are still trained on his plate. James turns to Sévérine. “My dishes aren’t heavy.”

\--

When James goes home for the night he stops by Emily’s door.

“How did it go?”

“Great. She went to bed a few hours ago.” Emily shifts from one foot to the other. “Mr. Bond…”

“James.”

“James, I am going on a trip for a few weeks over winter break, so I won’t be able to watch Vesper.”

 James takes this worse than it should be. Just when he thought things were stabilizing… “When will you leave?”

“Next Monday. I’m sorry this is so sudden. I didn’t know if the paperwork would go through so I’ve been waiting. I’m going to visit Berkeley, you know, in California. I’m thinking about transferring there.”

James nods. “That’s big.”

Emily hands him the spare keys. “Yeah. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Best of luck,” James says. Emily smiles her thanks and closes the door. James treks upstairs instead of taking the elevator.

When James enters his apartment, he knows something is off. There’s light flickering under the door of his bedroom. He doesn’t take off his coat or shoes. He walks straight to the room. The handle turns, but the door does not budge. He gives it a heartier shove with his shoulder and gets a hand through the crack. Groping the other side, James finds his ottoman shoved against the bottom. Lucky the thing has casters. He kneels and unlocks the two rollers he can reach to get the trunk moving. It pivots with the door in a jagged roll across the carpet.

James sighs. Vesper is buried under a pile of blankets and pillows holding her elephant. She’s staring at the TV screen where a slideshow plays. Phillipa at the hospital holding newborn Vesper. James helping Phillipa paint Vesper’s room. The two of them standing outside _Skyfall_ , Phillipa all smiles with her arm slung around James’ waist and James a mask of seriousness, then Phillipa and two-year old Vesper building a sandcastle at the beach. James remembers his sister giving him this CD several years ago. He kept it in a box in the trunk, alongside all the other keepsakes Phillipa forced on him.

“Vesper?”

James sits beside her and she flinches. They say nothing, just let the images burn into their eyes: picnics and school trips, people and places James barely remembers, and in every photo his sister beaming like it was the best day of her life, Vesper too, entirely innocent of the world around her, and James, James always an intense pinch to his eyes, barely a hint of a smile, but James swears he remembers smiling when those photos were taken.

“Why did she have to die?” Vesper asks.

James doesn’t have an answer. Not one that he can tell a child.

“Ms. Anderson says that it’s because God wanted mom to be with him. Do you believe in God?”

James definitely doesn’t have an answer. He pats the bed. “You should sleep, Vesper. You have school tomorrow.”

Vesper plows on. “I think she’s just saying that to make me feel better, but it doesn’t make me feel better. Why would it make me feel better?” Vesper starts to tear up. “If it was an accident…but if someone actually decided it, wanted it to happen, and made it happen, isn’t that horrible? Isn’t that worse?”

James tries to ignore the guilt welling in his stomach. He hasn’t thought of Phillipa and the accident since it happened. He hadn’t even tried.

“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want _you_. I want my mom!” Vesper shouts at him and bolts from the room before James can figure out what happened.

Her door slams and James folds.


	3. Chapter 3

The alarm clock whines. James slaps it off and sits up. He takes a minute to just sit and breathe.

The alarm rings again and James starts. He must’ve hit the snooze instead of off. His fingers find the switch and he actually looks at the time.

Five o’clock. That means Tuesday Wet Market.

James sheds his boxers and jumps into the shower. Ten minutes and he’s brushing his teeth. Quick shave, pull on his jeans and gray thermal, and change out his regular trainers for boots. He’s almost out the door when Vesper peeks her head out of her room.

“Where are you going?”

“China-town.”

“Can I come?”

James hesitates. Probably not a good idea to bring his niece to the south side at five-thirty in the morning.

Probably also not a good idea to leave her alone.

“You got any boots?” James asks.

\--

James parks in reverse at a warehouse just south of Archer and Canal.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Vesper tells her feet. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just miss her.”

James nods. “I know.”

They’ve stopped moving, so Vesper looks up. “How come all these buildings are old?”

“Chicago used to be a big meat packing central. We had a lot of trade down the river. Now, most food can be frozen and flown. There isn’t much money dedicated to fixing up these warehouses because no one uses them anymore.” James turns off the car. “Ready?”

Vesper hops out. “So why are we here?”

James locks the car. He comes around to her side.

“Are we doing something illegal?” Vesper asks.

James smirks. They take a flight of concrete steps to a huge barn door that’s been slid open. Inside the building, open crates of ice lay in rows, adorned with seafood of all kind. Two dozen Chinese men and women haggle loudly.

“I can see why I need boots,” Vesper says through scrunched nose. She skirts around a pile of fish innards.

“Gets pretty gross in here,” James admits. He strides down an aisle capped with Styrofoam tubs. Vesper squeaks as she walks past. There are live eels inside.

“James!” a short man with black stubble and a greasy hat gestures anxiously. He’s wearing boots over filthy jean overalls. “Here, here!”

James shuffles over and glances into the container. “Where did you get these, Steven?”

“You know I never tell,” the man replies in a thick accent. He rubs his hands together. His eyes wink eagerly but falter when Vesper appears behind James. “You bring little girl now? Is it your daughter?”

“No. She’s my niece,” James replies. The Chinese merchant relaxes and James motions for Vesper to look inside the container too. She shakes her head. James hands her a pair of tongs. She takes them and reaches inside without looking. Vesper’s eyes widen as the tongs close around something hard and she pulls a fresh crab from the box. It’s feisty, snipping at the air. She continues to hold it firmly, staring at it curiously. She even brings it closer to her face.

“Fearless,” Steven commends James, who smiles at Vesper.

They purchase a box of crabs, two brown bags of mussels, one crate of lobsters and a dozen fish for the restaurant. Steven promises to deliver them in a few hours. It’s nearly seven. Vesper falls asleep in the car and James hasn’t the heart to wake her. They get to school late and smelling like fish.

“I don’t mind,” Vesper says when James hands her the backpack. “Now I don’t have to talk to people.”

 James doesn’t have a chance to argue because Vesper shuts the door and runs up the steps.

\--

James cannot find a sitter for the life of him, so he brings Vesper to the restaurant for the dinner shift. M doesn’t argue. As he passes, he almost sees her features soften before they shrink into tension once more. Her eyes turn down to the reservation list. Vesper follows right behind him into the kitchen where several men are cleaning dishes and Sévérine is sliding the afternoon prep across the table for Tanner to put into the cooler.

James shows Vesper to his office, but she refuses to stay there. She comes into the kitchen and finds a quiet place out of the way to sit. James doesn’t complain. He ties his apron and sets to work. Q shows up, followed in quick succession by Eve.

A half-hour passes and they open the doors for the evening. The orders start rolling in.

Vesper’s feet dangle off the counter. She’s bored but James can barely spare a glance to make sure she’s alright before he gets another order. He’s plating scallop medallions on a bed of cous cous when he notices Q sidle over to her. He casually leans against the counter with a plate in his hand. When he found the time to make a grilled cheese sandwich, James doesn’t know but he can see Q’s face break into lines of pleasure as he takes a bite. He swallows a mouthful and his adam’s apple bobs. James doesn’t look down as he pushes his dish toward Eve. He sees Vesper eyeing Q with puckered cheeks.

“Chef?” Tanner calls. Q nods and shoves his plate into Vesper’s hands.

“Here.” He leaves to attend the roast coming out of the oven.

James shakes his head and adjusts the flame on his grill. When he checks on Vesper again she has half the sandwich hanging out of her mouth and is quickly devouring the rest. James searches for Q across the kitchen. Q is already staring at him. James mouths, _thank you_. Q’s lips quirk for a second and then he ducks his head into the oven.

\--

When the night is over and the kitchen cleaned, James locks up. Q is outside lighting up a cigarette. James buckles a sleeping Vesper into his car and closes the door softly.

“So tell me what else you never do.”

Q looks back, cigarette wedged between his fingers. The end glows and he removes the stick, exhaling into his words, “I never smoke.”

James shrugs on his jacket. “For some reason I don’t believe you.”

“I never take taxis.”

James tips his head and gives Q a once over. Q offers James a cigarette, which he takes.

“Really?”

“I prefer the CTA.”

“I have never heard anyone say they prefer public transit. Why do you...?”

Q exhales another cloud. “You see people you’ve never seen before, maybe you won’t ever see again. It reminds you that you’re in the heart of the city, something thriving, something bigger than yourself, because in another five minutes you’ll forget again. Your vision will inevitably focus on the future: what, where, or who your next engagement will be.”

James inhales. Q’s words catch in his throat. He exhales, and the rhythm of their breathing becomes apparent and he thinks he knows exactly what Q means.

\--

The next day after school James brings Vesper to work again. He forces her to do homework in his office until the dinner shift begins. As soon as the restaurant opens, Vesper bolts into the kitchen and hops onto the counter for a better view.

“Where’s my ginger glaze, Tanner?”

“Here, Chef!”

James calls out a few more orders and then checks to see how Q is managing. “Make sure you don’t overcook the salmon.”

“I know how to poach salmon,” Q replies.

James slides to the range next to him. “How about this? Is it done?”

“Five minutes,” Q replies. “I do have a timer for it. You would be able to hear it if you weren’t shouting all the-”

But James has already walked away. Q rolls his eyes at Vesper. She’s the only one near enough to see. He tosses his head sideways. “Have a look.”

Q can never resist showing someone his work. Vesper plops onto the floor and walks up to the stove. “What is it?”

Q ladles a small spoonful. “My own concoction. It’s a spin on the soup. Tell me what you think. Be careful it’s-”

Vesper’s eyes start to water, but to her credit, she swallows the scalding spoonful. She forgot to blow off the steam before testing. “It tastes like-”

“Burning?”

“Kind of,” Vesper laughs. “Like it’s too spicy.”

Q makes a dance about grabbing different containers and putting them down until he finds the right one. “Ah ha! Here we go!”

He cranks open the jar and removes a small brick of brown rock sugar.

“You can’t put sugar in soup,” Vesper says.

“Why not?”

Vesper blinks.

Q smiles and offers her the piece. “Go on then. Put it in.”

Vesper takes the chunk and stands on her tip toes to see into the pot. She drops it in and Q hands her a spoon. “Stir.”

She does. “Why are you so weird?”

“I’m not weird,” Q replies, affronted. “I just like trying new things.”

“James would never put sugar in soup.”

“Well maybe that’s why our soup will taste better than his.”

Vesper likes the sound of that. When James comes back again, Vesper hands him the spoon. “Try it now.”

James frowns at Q and then at Vesper like it’s a conspiracy. He dips the spoon into the soup, inhales and sips sideways. “It’s okay.”

He hands the spoon back to Vesper, orders Q to serve it up, and goes back to his station.

“There’s just no pleasing him,” Q wipes his hand on his apron. He grabs his mug to take a drink.

“Men,” Vesper sighs and Q snorts into his tea.

\--

Vesper learns quickly. James doesn’t entrust her with the knives, but he gives her a peeler and a zester.

Q watches James show Vesper how to use both. In less than a minute she’s shaving away at lemons, limes, and carrots.

When she finishes those, Q teaches her about dessert.

“Mitts.”

“Mitts!”

Vesper helps him pull out the rack. Q squats and slides an empty tray onto the rack. He pours water into it. “This is a water bath. When you bake a cheesecake, this is what helps it stay smooth.”

He slides the rack and pan in, careful not to slosh any, and pulls the next rack out. Q smiles. “This is another little investigation.”

He shows Vesper a tray of mini Corning-ware cups, each filled three quarters of the way with a creamy liquid and graced with cocoa powder on top. “It’s a combination between a soufflé and a cheesecake. We’ll see how it turns out. I think the trick will be not letting the top burn, maintain a moist center, and hope that it still puffs.”

Q puts the tray in over the water and they close the door. Vesper sets the timer.

 “Where’s my spatula?” James is talking to himself. He tends to do that. Q can’t ignore questions when he knows the answers, despite the fact that he enjoys watching James flounder.

“On the counter behind the double broiler.”

James finds it and keeps going.

\--

Q likes having a three foot radius around him to work.

James enjoys making him uncomfortable. He purposefully leaves his pots and utensils bordering Q’s workspace.

Vesper keeps a secret tally of their kitchen war. Sévérine catches her one day and bets her a dollar the next win will be James.

\--

“What is this for?” Vesper holds up what looks like a clear toy car.

Q smiles and shows her how the top unhinges. “It’s for garlic,” he says. He cuts the tips off some garlic cloves, removes the skins, pops them into the device, and closes the lid before handing it back to Vesper. “Roll.”

She does and the tiny blades inside mince the garlic. “Neat!”

Vesper soon finds that Q has a gadget for everything.

Herb scissors. A shoestring carrot crank. Yolk remover. Vesper thinks it’s an addiction.

\--

Vesper comes to the restaurant every day. She learns something new every day.

On the weekends, she has dinner with the rest of them at three in the afternoon.

James dishes out the plates and Vesper passes them around. When she offers a plate to Q, he’s absorbed in his puzzle book and mechanically passes the dish to the next person. When Tanner doesn’t take it, he tries to pass it back to Vesper. Vesper raises an eyebrow at him. They hover for a moment. Then Q adjusts his glasses, folds his legs down and eats. James smirks and Sévérine adds a new column to Vesper’s secret tally.

                James: 10

                Q: 13

                Vesper: 1

\--

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do I have a choice?” Q asks, setting a chocolate lattice on top of lingonberry torte.

“Who taught you how to cook?”

Q stiffens and James isn’t sure if it’s because the lattice almost slides off or his question. Q doesn’t answer until the dessert is finished and Eve whisks it away. He doesn’t look at James. “My grandmother.”

“What made you decide to-”

“She encouraged me to experiment, to invent, to create,” Q says. “Always…testing a new recipe.”

James nods, eyes trained on the plate in front of him, but he can sense Q facing him. “Explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?’

James looks up. Q is adjusting the utensils in front of him. “Why you can’t settle. You’re always moving, changing things.”

“It’s not that.”

James is about to ask when Q walks away to deal with a new wave of orders. He doesn’t ask about it again.

\--

On Thursday afternoon, James gets a special delivery from a friend of a friend. The friend is okay. The friend of is sketchy, but he’s “got the goods” as Eve says.

“Patrice,” James greets. Sévérine stands next to him.

The man is all business and sets two cloth bags onto the bar. “Very fresh. Two kinds.”

James reaches into one of the bag and pulls out a black stone the size of a golf ball. He smells it before handing it to Sévérine.

“How many?” James asks.

As if he's afraid the place is bugged, Patrice holds up ten fingers.

James pulls a white lump from the other bag. “And here?”

Five.

“How much do you want for all of them?” James continues to inspect.

Patrice glances outside and then back at James. “I make you a good deal. For the black, $1000 per pound. For the white, $3,000 per pound.”

“Oh my god,” Sévérine gasps.

“They’re truffles, Sévérine, what do you ex-”

“OHH!” Sévérine clutches her stomach. James spins around as she starts to cry in pain. “Oh god, James. It’s starting. Please. Help!”

James tries to get Patrice to call an ambulance but the man dashes, calling out something about _no police!_

James locks up and conveys Sévérine out the back door where his car is parked.

He speeds to the hospital. When they arrive, the doctors ask if he is the father.

This halts James in his tracks.

“A good friend,” Sévérine explains. She waves at him to tell him it’s fine to wait outside. James thinks he should protest. Afterall, Sévérine has no one, but he doesn’t know how to help, how to speak comforting words. James can see the fear in her eyes, in the way her hands shake.

“I’m coming.” James follows the nurse.

They deliver the baby in less than an hour. Sévérine is healthy and so is the child. She rests after briefly holding the sticky wad. It’s a boy. When the baby is weighed and cleaned, he is returned to his mother. James can’t help but marvel. He’s never felt the desire to have children before, to be a parent, and suddenly he realizes that he is. Vesper is his now. Phillipa entrusted her to him. Vesper, his sister’s only child, Vesper, his clever niece, Vesper-

“Shit,” James curses.

\--

James pulls into the school’s parking lot and barely remembers to lock the door as he races to the courtyard entrance. Vesper is sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Beside her, Principal Dower stands. When James approaches, she bends down to whisper. Vesper doesn’t look up. She simply stands and walks toward James, past him. James closes his eyes. When he opens them, Dower is retreating into the school.

James catches up to Vesper. They transition into the car and are driving home for ten minutes before James breaks the silence with an apology. “I am sorry, Vesper. I lost track of time.”

“You forgot about me.”

“No. I-” But he stops himself. James has been brutally honest his whole life. He’s not going to change. “I did. You’re right.” He adjusts his hands on the wheel. “I’m not used to taking care of anyone but myself.”

Silence, in which James can almost hear his niece say, _You can’t even manage_ that.

James signals and takes a ramp. “How can I make it up to you?”

Vesper thinks. And thinks.

They arrive at the apartment building and James parks the car in the garage. They’re in the elevator when Vesper finally decides. “I want a day. No work. A day for us.”

“Fair. More than fair. What would you like to do on this day?”

Vesper smiles. “Mom used to take me to museums. I want to go to the Art Institute, and I want Q to come too.”

The elevator dings. Vesper steps out, leaving behind James’, “What?”


	4. Chapter 4

Vesper is all smiles in her blouse and flouncy skirt. James is glad she dresses herself. She is eight after all.

Q is already waiting by the green lions. He’s wearing a dress shirt and tie under a rain slicker and is tucking away an unused umbrella. They enter and James moves to purchase the tickets, but Q waggles a membership card and the three enter without a hitch.

Vesper takes Q’s hand and leads him around the grand staircase to the giant statue behind. James follows a few paces after. He hears Vesper’s voice bounce around the controlled space. “Let’s start from the bottom and go up.”

“Okay. Medieval it is.”

James wonders if Vesper had this planned for some time.

They don’t break for lunch, but instead transition directly to the Modern Wing. Vesper’s gasps are only rivaled by Q’s amazed, happy silence. James realizes he’s watching Q watching Vesper discover new things and he smiles too.

They find a nice room where the windows expose part of the skyline and Millennium Park. These walls hold a series of white canvases, which James takes to be completely blank at first. Upon closer inspection, he realizes they have very fine black lines striped across in a seemingly haphazard manner. Vesper loves them so much she finds a bench. James is glad for the reprieve and sighs into the spot beside her. Q takes Vesper’s other side. The three stare down the canvas.

“It always makes me feel a bit melancholy,” Q leans a little.

Vesper hums in agreement.

“What do you see, Uncle James?”

“A whole bunch of wobbly lines.”

In perfect sync, Vesper and Q swivel their heads to deliver identical exasperated looks. James blinks. His eyes dart from Vesper to Q and then back to Vesper.

“What?”

\--

After the museum they part ways briefly. Q tells Vesper there are a few last minute things he needs to pick up and promises to be over by six-thirty to make dinner. James wonders how this happened so quickly and decides that he doesn’t mind, especially when Q puts a hand on Vesper’s head and says, “See you soon.”

They return to James’ apartment and clean up a little. Vesper waits by the window and James notices her checking the time.

“He’s late.”

“He’ll be here soon.”

A knock at the door and Vesper is up and running. She throws it open and James hangs back, taking in the whole thing. Q’s holding several bags and has changed. His brown Converses peek out from under slim fit jeans. He deposits the bags on the side table and Vesper takes his coat. He’s wearing a mustard cardigan and thin tie. He looks like-

“My math teacher, Miss Eldridge has that cardigan!” Vesper grins.

Q smirks. “She stole it from me.” Vesper giggles. Q takes up the groceries and sees James. “Hello again.”

James gestures toward the kitchen and reaches for a bag as Q passes.

“Ah, no.” His eyes narrow behind his glasses as he grins. “No peeking. No helping. Vesper’s rules.” The two disappear into the kitchen and James has never felt more out of his element. There are people in his kitchen. _His_ kitchen. Granted, they are his niece and sous chef, but it still feels wrong. He tries several attempts at entry. Each is met with Vesper’s shrieks. Eventually James settles on the couch and picks up a book he hasn’t read in months.

\--

Q and Vesper finally appear and James relaxes. They “go camping”—something that neither James nor Q have done before. Vesper takes all the blankets and pillows to build a fort in front of the TV large enough for the three of them. They eat box mac ‘n cheese with Spam chunks mixed in, and fifty home-made fish sticks with various condiments. They watch re-runs of _Friends_ and _The Big Bang Theory_ , both Vesper’s choices. They play a grueling round of Scrabble. It’s still interesting even with only three players and James thinks more so considering Vesper has a vocabulary to rival Q’s. When she finally falls asleep it’s wedged between James and Q under their makeshift tent. Q is the first to notice. He nudges James’ shoulder with his own and nods at Vesper’s tucked head.

James pulls himself onto his knees and scoops Vesper up. Q finds the remote and turns off _Die Hard_. James listens for his socked feet behind him. When he reaches Vesper’s room, Q squeezes in front of him to open the door and enter first so he can turn on a light and pull aside the covers. James tucks Vesper in and Q retreats to the door. They exchange a brief smile. James touches Vesper’s cheek and kisses her forehead. When he reaches for the bedside lamp, Q is gone.

James finds him in the kitchen cleaning up.

“Just leave it,” James waves at the dirty pans and countertop.

“Don’t be ridiculous. A good chef always keeps his workstation clean.”

James knows Q won’t stop so he grabs a dish towel and joins him. “You don’t know where anything goes.”

“Of course I do. I opened all the cupboards when I got here.”

James snorts and Q gives him a _try me_ look. “If it’s something I’m good at, it’s remembering things.”

“Not cooking?”

Q hands him a wet plate to dry. “No. You don’t even believe in what I do.”

“It’s not cooking. It’s…methodical rearranging.”

“It’s science. Food science. Isn’t that something MI6 taught you?” And Q shuts the faucet off, turning to face James head on. His soapy hand dangles over the stainless steel basin. “The way things taste, capturing the specific parts, isolating the stimulants, reconstruction. It’s a magic trick on your mind.”

“Food is straight forward: exceptional ingredients, tried methods, honest presentation.”

“Food is not just sustenance, it’s memories, 007. Your favourite snack when you were a kid, your mom’s famous roast or your grandpa’s July 4th barbeque.”

“Then why not just make the roast or bbq?”

“Because you know it will never meet their expectations, so you make it completely different, impossible to compare.” Q dries his hand on James’ towel and walks over to the fridge. “I was hoping to have Vesper’s help but it seems I’m on my own.” He removes several boxes and sets them on the counter.

James watches as indeed Q’s memory serves him well. The man finds the correct cupboards immediately. He removes a long white plate. He cracks open a box and James can’t help his curiosity.

After ten minutes watching Q perform his careful preparations, James sits down at the table. Q sets the plate in front of him and slides into the seat opposite. James looks down at the construction:

Cocoa Pain de Gênes cut into long, thin rectangles, soaked in the rum syrup. Coffee caramel cylinders filled with Marscapone cream. Chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and lemon cream.

“Is this…”

“You tell me.”

Q offers a spoon and James decides, what the hell, and dives in.

He looks up. “It’s Tiramisù.”

Q nods and James falls back against his chair, swallowing so he can laugh without choking. When he tips his head forward, he sees Q staring murderously across the table. James waves a hand. “It’s not that.” He gets up and goes to the refrigerator where he pulls open a drawer and removes his own box. “I made this yesterday.”

He sets it in front of Q, who searches the edge for the opening and pries it off.

“It’s Tiramisù.”

James nods and Q smiles momentarily. James pulls out another spoon and hands it to Q.

“I’m not really a dessert person.”

“Shut up and try it.”

Q sighs and adjusts his glasses as if he’s about to embark on a new professional endeavor, which James thinks he might be. Q digs into the layers and winces as it falls apart on him. He fishes around a bit until enough of a mix sits on his spoon. He raises his eyebrows and slips the spoon in his mouth. James waits for a reaction.

Q slides the spoon out clean and James can see the line of his jaw move as his tongue works the dessert over his taste buds. There isn’t much to chew. Just taste and swallow. After he does, Q looks at James. His adamant refusal to smile and agree assures James that Q liked it.

Satisfied, James jabs at Q’s offering again. “So, does the ‘Q’ stand for anything?”

“'Questionable.'”

James snorts again, this time with his mouth closed.

Q dips a second spoonful of tiramisù and consumes it all at once again. James watches his face contort as he tries to work out the sensation and flavor. James can see the bump of his tongue churning against the inside of his cheeks. Q swallows, “It’s such a strange texture. Spongey and-”-he folds his lips-“-rich.”

“You can’t compartmentalize and label everything, Q. Some flavours are meant to blend, some ingredients meant to melt together.”

Q hums. James knows he’s only half listening. He knows because Q jumps right back into their earlier conversation without addressing his last statement. “It’s entirely the alcohol. It’s turned the ladies fingers into mush.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you have tiramisù before you started screwing around with the recipe?”

Q sets the spoon down. “Of course. Doesn’t mean it was good.”

“Are you saying my tiramisù is good?”

“Better than my first attempt at any rate.”

“Well there’s your problem. You only tried it once.”

“I only have to try it once. If I can read the recipe I can make it.”

“But not perfect it.”

Q’s lips taper and the bottom half of his eyes peek out from under the top rim of his glasses.

James has a strange urge to kiss him. He even leans over the plate. When he realizes that Q isn’t breathing anymore, that he’s close enough to hear the catch in his throat, that’s enough to snap James awake. Q says nothing. He lets a tight throat cough break the air and starts packing his things. “Work tomorrow.”

“Right. Don’t forget your Tupperware.”

Q packs everything, laces up his shoes and pulls on his rain coat.

“It’s pretty late. Is the train still running?” James asks.                                

“Red should still be going until around two.” Q pats his pockets to make sure he has his keys and wallet. James opens the door a crack. Q steps out, but hovers on the landing to withdraw a cigarette.

“I thought you said you never smoke,” James says.

“And I never take taxis, but I just might tonight,” Q replies. He tucks the stick in between his lips and glances back at James.

For some reason, James wants to say he can stay if that’s the case, that it’s too cold to be traipsing around downtown in the middle of the night, but he reassures himself that this is what Q always does. He can even imagine Q walking through the deserted Loop, with the rusted bracing of the elevated train arching over him, where everything is yellow because that’s the colour of Chicago at night, the three taxis trying to find someone to drive.

So James says thank you, wishes Q a good night, and closes the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, James walks Vesper to the school courtyard where he’s flagged down by a teacher. She informs him that the principal would like a word, and after the children enter, James is escorted to the appropriate room.

“Mr. Bond. Thank you for coming.” Principal Dowar shakes his hand from over her desk. She gestures to one of the two chairs. “Please.”

James sits.

“I’ve asked you here to discuss Vesper’s future. I understand that you now have legal custody.” James doesn’t move but his eyes betray a shred of doubt. It’s enough for Dowar to pounce. “Vesper’s teachers inform me that she has been falling asleep in class. When questioned, she explains that it is due to her long working hours as a chef’s assistant in your restaurant. She tells the other children she works for room and board.”

James’ mouth dries.

“I dismiss this as an active imagination because I know that if there were any truth to her story, we would have to notify child protective services.” Dowar leans forward. “That’s the last thing we want to do.”

James takes it as a threat. He stands. “Thank you, Principal Dowar. I will speak with Vesper tonight.” James leaves before she can stand to see him out.

\--

James doesn’t convince himself it’s an issue until Sunday night comes around and Vesper is asleep in a mountain of homework at the kitchen table.

“Hey.” James touches her shoulder and she moans. “I thought you said you were almost done.”

“I lied,” Vesper’s muffled voice permeates the stack of algebra worksheets. James checks the clock. It’s nearly eleven. He debates whether to put Vesper to bed or force her awake. He thinks about his own experiences and the decision is obvious.

“I can’t bring you to the restaurant anymore.” Vesper stirs. “Not if you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Tired all the time. You’re growing. You need sleep.”

Vesper is awake now. “But I like going to the restaurant.”

“You told your classmates you were working for room and board.”

“I was only joking.”

“Vesper, they don’t know that.”

“Well they’re stupid then.” A pause. “You don’t want me there.”

“I don’t want them to take you away from me,” James breathes.

Vesper considers this. “But you never wanted me.”

“I want you now.”

Vesper’s trying not to cry. James knows it’s not because of him. It’s because she’s remembering.

“I want my mom.”

“I know you do. I know you miss her. I miss her too. And she’d certainly be a hundred times better because she would know exactly what to say and do. I know I’m doing it all wrong, but I am trying.”

Vesper doesn’t respond to that. Instead she says, “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I’ve never wanted a father really, but now I have you.”

James smiles. “I’m still your uncle.”

“I know, and I like that, but you’re still a man,” Vesper observes. Her expression turns sly. “Q is a man too.”

James frowns. “Yes…?”

“But you like him.”

James blinks. Vesper giggles. “It’s okay, Uncle James. I like him too. Besides, mom told me that if two people like each other then it doesn’t matter if they’re both men or both women.”

How this conversation got so far from scolding, James does not know, but he decides to bring focus back.

“How about we make a deal.”

“Okay,” Vesper takes out a spare sheet of paper and is poised to write with her pencil.

“You can come to the restaurant with me on the weekends: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, if, _and only if_ , you bring your homework along and go to bed on weekdays by nine thirty.” James adds, “And no falling asleep in class.”

Vesper does a few mental calculations.

“Does that mean you’ll hire a baby sitter again?”

“Yes.”

Vesper gives him an insulted look and then sighs dramatically. “Okay, but only if Q comes over so we can finish _Die Hard_.”

James has no idea how Vesper was exposed to the movie, but accepts that it is her favourite.

“Deal.” He spits into his hands and offers it to his niece, who shrieks in disgust. James fishes for a reaction. “You have to shake to seal the deal.”

Vesper whines and extends her hand. James shakes and Vesper tries to pry her hand out of his grip. James laughs, holding on until he’s sure her squeals will wake the neighbors. He lets go and Vespers flies to the bathroom. James hears the water run for several minutes before she returns. Her hand is bright red.

Vesper sees her pile and moans, “How am I going to finish this?”

“I’ll make some coffee.”

“I thought kids weren’t supposed to have coffee.”

“It’ll be a one-time thing.” James winks. He sets up the pot and as the water percolates, pulls his work from his desk over to the table. Vesper does word problems and James writes menu cards. They each drink a cup of coffee. Vesper loves it (white with two sugars).

At one o’clock they call it quits. James tucks her in. He turns out the light.

“Uncle James?”

“Yeah?” He hangs in the doorway.

“You’re not doing _everything_ wrong.”

James gives her an unconvinced smile and closes the door.

\--

Eve folds the paper behind James as he pours a wild mushroom sauce over a bowl of handmade gnocchi. “ _Bond’s mint dry-rub lamb, wilted spinach salad and asparagus cream risotto are a bold riot—a battle you won’t mind losing._ God this critic is dramatic.”

Tanner peeks over Eve’s shoulder and tries to read along. He continues, “ _Paired with a hearty Spanish red wine, this dish will leave you full without bursting._ I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”

Eve runs her eyes down the page. “Oh look.” She grins and pivots toward Q. “ _It’s clear that something new is brewing at_ Skyfall _. Follow your steadfast signature dish with a charming twist on traditional desserts. I ended my night with a mini dessert trio of peach cream trifle, chocolate brandy logs and chai tea infused crème brulee. Hands down, the best new sweets Chicago has to offer._ ”

James is staring at Q who is too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Eve continues reading aloud and when Q thinks James is no longer looking at him, he glances up. James is still staring, and he smiles. Q’s eyes dart down again but he smiles too.

\--

James finds a nanny through Eve, a Ms. (Miz) Claire. She’s the typical old woman with her knitting and her ten cats, but James doesn’t mind. Vesper likes her well enough and she’s good at what she does. The only problem is that Ms. Claire must stay with her ten cats at all times, so James drops Vesper off at her house after school each day and picks her up after the dinner shift.

On Wednesday night, James arrives at the usual hour and rings. Ms. Claire answers the door and wordlessly invites him inside. James frowns and does so. She closes the door and touches his arm. In a stage whisper, she explains, “Not a good day today. I tried to get her to eat something and focus on her work, but she wouldn’t listen. Maybe you can talk to her.”

Ms. Claire brings James into the living room where Vesper lies on her stomach under her own personal tent made of quilts. She has a cat tucked under each arm and one crawling over her back. Her eyes are glued to a photo album filled with pictures of Phillipa, herself, and school friends.

James kneels at the tent opening. “It’s time to go, Vesper.”

Vesper complies. They pack up her things, James thanks Ms. Claire and they drive home.

As soon as they step inside, Vesper darts for her bedroom, but James follows. He sets a hand on the frame and watches Vesper scramble into bed without changing. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Vesper shakes her head. James sits on the edge of her bed. “You know we can if or whenever you want, okay?”

Vesper nods and clutches her elephant. James tucks her in and closes the door. He cleans up, changes, and slides into bed. He’s lying awake staring at the ceiling when his bedroom door opens a crack. He tilts his head and sees Vesper squeeze in. She moves to the opposite side of the bed and climbs in with her elephant. James turns to face her.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

James tucks a strand of Vesper’s hair over her shoulder and pulls the blankets up. He watches as she closes her eyes. They lay there just breathing until James feels himself start to slip into sleep. He regrets not opening his eyes a little wider because he senses Vesper staring at him. She reaches for his face, but he never feels the touch.

\--

When James wakes he doesn’t know what time it is. The alarm failed to sound. He tries to remember if he set the damn thing when his arm falls over onto a soft lump in the sheets. Vesper mumbles and surfaces from beneath the layers. She gropes for her stuffed animal and when she doesn’t find it, sits bolt upright. The elephant is on the floor. She throws her body half off the bed and James grabs her calves, worried that she’ll slip off and bump her head.

“Woah! Girl overboard,” he says.

Vesper cuddles her elephant close and slides back under the warm covers to face James. “Are you a pirate?”

“Secretly.” James consults the clock behind him. “Only at…quarter til eight in the morning.”

Vesper smiles and then her eyes lose focus for a moment. James watches her process the information. She looks back at him. “I don’t want to go to school.”

“That’s good.”

“It is?”

“I don’t want to go to work.”

Vesper laughs, then realizes that he’s serious. “Really?”

“Really.”

Vesper wiggles closer.

“So what say you, pirate queen?”

Vesper giggles and tries to shove James off the bed. “It’s _man_ overboard!”

\--

They spend the morning in pajamas.

They drink coffee.

They make the elephant an eye-patch. And a hat. A big one.

Vesper convinces James to let them get Chinese take-out for lunch while having an _Indiana Jones_ marathon.

James forces Vesper to play the only game he knows how to play: _Jenga_.

Together, they create a special place. The apartment isn’t just James’, it’s _theirs._ The floor is lava, the pillows are rocks. James knows every hiding spot and chooses a spot for its tactical advantage in a pillow fight.

They laugh themselves silly and when the sound is gone from the walls, they fill the space between with a smile.

\--

Sévérine is still on hospital leave. Eve passes around a photo of the newborn over lunch and reads Sévérine’s note aloud: “ _Dear_ Skyfall _, I can’t wait for you to meet my sweet bun: seven pounds, ten ounces. His name is Hugo and-_ “

Q looks up. Tanner catches his frown and answers Q’s unspoken question, “James asked for a day off.”

Q nods vaguely and turns his eyes down to his book.

“Oh, Matthew,” M touches a stack of boxes in the corner of the room. “These just arrived.”

Q jumps up and snatches a pair of scissors from the hostess station. M stands beside him as he opens the top box to reveal a flat-screen monitor. “Brilliant.”

“We can have them installed after work today. It is a clever solution.”

Q mutters a ‘thank you’ and sinks his arms elbow-deep into the box. “There should be no reason why these won’t work.” He’s too engrossed in extricating the device so he has to ask M to repeat exactly what she-

“Stay with us, permanently,” M says. “You’ve put your mark on the dishes and the customers love it. Stay.”

Q tries to get his mouth to work. In the end, he manages, “That would be great, but you’ll have to check with-”

But M’s walking away.


	6. Chapter 6

James opens the door. Q is red-faced and wearing a rain slicker. His shoulders are turned in from the cold. He’s holding a box.

“Are you crazy? It’s below twenty and nearly midnight.”

“I grabbed the wrong coat. Now will you let me in?”

James steps aside and Q tracks a little bit of snow onto the hallway rug. He toes off his loafers and sets the box on the table so he can remove his jacket. James is too curious to notice Q hanging his coat up. Just as he reaches for the box, Q tucks it under his arm. They move into the kitchen and Q gestures for James to sit.

“What is this?”

“I figured you were probably sleepless with worry not knowing what became of your kitchen tonight. Alternatively, you might have been bored senseless so I brought over a diversion.” Q pauses, then asks, “Vesper asleep?”

“At a friend’s tonight.”

Q smiles a _well done you, friends and everything_. “That’s good.”

James waits for Q to go on.

Q smiles and opens his box. The wood case pivots on a hinge to reveal several drawers which expand into tiered shelves. Each shelf holds four 20g glass jars. Inside each jar is some kind of powder or dried herb.

“Turn over was good. Timing was rough to start, but we slid into a decent rhythm. Duck was most popular tonight. I might’ve tweaked the peppercorn sauce a bit.”

James tilts his head. Q meets the disapproval in his eyes directly. James is flirting now. Q plays along, “Fine. It was a perfect disaster without you there and everything tasted horrible.”

“Better.”

Q retrieves a strip of black cloth from the bottom drawer. “Now, let’s see how the famous James Bond fares at a little test.”

He secures the blindfold around James’ crown.

“Didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff, Q.”

“Don’t get too excited.” James feels Q’s lithe fingers make minor adjustments and almost flinches when Q’s hair brushes his cheek. “No peeking,” Q whispers.

James senses him move back around the table. In a few seconds, the tip of a cold spoon touches his bottom lip. Q tips the contents into James’ mouth.

James inhales and licks at the same time for the whole effect.

“Ground cumin.”

Q does another, this time holding the spoon stationary so James’ tongue can do the work.

“Black sesame.”

Again.

“Star anise.”

Until James’ lips part in anticipation of a spoon that doesn’t come. He reaches for the edge of the blindfold, but Q’s hand intercepts. His thumbs graze James’ temples.

Then, James feels Q’s hesitant lips touch his. They’re still cold around the edges. James grins.

“Right. The only time you choose to smile is when I’m kissing you.”

James pulls off the blindfold. “Shut up.”

They’re barely down the hall and into James’ bedroom when Q's shirt comes off. Shedding clothes is harder than James remembers, especially when he can’t stop kissing Q. They search for loops and buttons on each other, never losing skin contact. James uses Q’s back to close the door. He pins his shoulder, kissing down Q’s chest and presses his thumb into the soft of Q’s hip.

“This-is-” Q inhales between kisses, “-new.”

“Having sex with a man?” James silences him before he can answer, slipping his tongue between their teeth. He wraps a hand at the base of Q’s neck so he can tilt Q’s chin up and expose his neck.

“Ah-no,” Q can barely manage to speak. “The taste.”

James inhales along the line of Q’s jaw. He finds the soft valley just under and runs the tip of his tongue until he reaches Q’s ear. James says, “Less talk. More-” His reprimand turns into a groan because Q’s fingers wrap around James’ exposed cock.

"Christ," James sighs. He feels Q's lips smile against his.

They make it to the bed. The back of James' knees barely touch the edge before Q pushes him down into a sitting position.

James doesn't argue. He grabs Q's waist. Together, they adjust, sliding and crawling, until James' back is against the headboard and Q is straddling his lap.

"This needs to come off," Q demands, tugging James' shirt. As soon as it drops, James feels Q's lips outline his collarbone and chest. He works his way down, rear stuck in the air, licking and biting James' abs, trying to isolate the muscles underneath.

Q can't move fast enough. James can feel each measured exhale from Q's mouth hovering just above his erection.

James closes his eyes and moans as Q licks from bottom to top. Q does it again. Slower with a definitive flick at the slit. James opens his eyes just as Q slides James' cock into his mouth as deep as it will go.

James bucks at the liquid warmth, "God, Q."

Q's fingers chase his lips up and down. He creates a pattern, then breaks it, forcing James to thread his fingers into Q's curls. Q obliges, allowing James to set the pace until he's all but thrusting into Q's mouth. But before James can come, Q pulls himself off.

James says, "I don't hav-"

"I do," Q answers. He produces a condom and lube from his fallen jeans.

"Eager, are we?" James asks. He's certain Q came prepared to seduce him. James should never have underestimated him.

Q tears the packet and tugs it over James' slick cock.

"Expectant," Q corrects. "I cover you for a day and show you my secret box. I demand recompense."

James coats his fingers with lube. "With pleasure."

He lays Q back, spreads his legs, and begins rubbing circles around Q's opening. Q's own erection twitches and James teases it with his free hand. His strokes are coarse, but Q doesn't complain. He thrusts himself against each of James' calluses, cuts, and burns and as their rhythm builds, Q starts to whimper, "God, James. Please. I-"

Q twists against James' touch at his hole. James complies and leans forward, inserting a single wet finger. He watches Q's eyes disappear under a haze of pleasure. James pulls out almost completely, then slides his finger back, deeper. Q arches and their chests graze.

"I...more," Q says, rocking his hips, and James inserts another finger, working him open until Q begs him to push his cock inside.

They lose speech, lose time. It's seeing and smelling and tasting. James opens his eyes to the spot on Q's neck just under his jaw. James inhales and the smoky grease clinging to Q's hair touches his tongue. James moves steadily faster, feeling Q reach the brink. Q clamps a hand to James' wrist and comes to them both pumping his cock. Q's body clenches around James and James feels the ripple of warmth surge through his cock until it spills over.

James hovers above Q for a moment before slowly withdrawing. Q stares at the ceiling in a daze. "I can't believe I just had sex with James Bond."

James snorts, "Don't let it get to your head." He strips and disposes of the condom, tosses Q a shirt from the floor to wipe himself off with, and pulls the blankets out from under the man. They slip under and Q turns his nose to the pillow, refusing to show his face. He talks into the fabric and James can't make out a word.

"Sleep, Q." James sets a hand on Q's back and feels the vibrations of speech turn into measured breaths before he falls asleep.

\--

Q’s been awake for twenty minutes but he only opens his eyes because he senses someone staring at him. He’s naked under the sheets and he knows James is lying next to him facing the other direction. Q sits up and sees Vesper silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed. She’s holding a wooden spoon and a mixing bowl.

Q is trying to think of what to say when Vesper demands, “I want pancakes,” and walks away.

Q blinks.

                Vesper: 2

\--

James rolls over. The bed is cold. He searches for the depression in the pillow to make certain he wasn’t dreaming. He can hear clanking in the hall and two voices.

James slides out of bed, puts on a pair of pajama pants, and brushes his teeth. When he straightens he meets his reflection in the mirror.

He walks into the kitchen. Q is standing next to Vesper by the stove where a tiny pancake is bubbling. They are so focused on the pan that they don’t notice him.

“Get ready,” Q says, giving Vesper the spatula. She takes it and slides it under the pancake. “Almost…”

She wiggles the spatula to test the underside.

“…and GO!”

Vesper flips the pancake. It lands directly in the middle, slides a little, but Vesper nudges it back into place.

“Perfect!” Q congratulates. The kettle screams and he turns off the burner under it.

“Uncle James,” Vesper grins. “Breakfast! We’re making pancakes.”

“I can see that,” James replies. He searches for coffee, finds a pot made, and pours himself a cup. Q cranes to pour the hot water into a white tea pot for himself. His bed hair ignores his neck. James kisses the bare spot. Q stiffens for a moment, but relaxes when James walks away to read the paper.

Vesper sets the table, brings over mugs and a pitcher of juice, and then waits in her seat. She nudges James’ arm. James folds the paper up as Q sets a quartered plate in front of him.

“Pancake Flight.” Q sets a similar plate in front of Vesper. “In one corner, a blood orange, pomegranate infused stack with mint. In another, crushed rosemary parmesan with classic maple. Here, chocolate chip, blueberry jam with graham cracker crumble. And lastly, fuji apple, cheddar, with crisp bacon.”

“You know you can’t have this every day,” James says to Vesper.

Vesper just tilts her head smugly and sits like a proper lady, cutting up her pancakes and folding them into her mouth.

Q sips tea from his mug and finds James’ feet under the table. He tucks them in between so that their ankles touch.

\--

Q insists on cooking them a meal at his restaurant.

They probably visit ten farmer’s markets before Q is satisfied. He complains that the selection is meager. James points out the season. They argue over whether it’s better to have multiple suppliers or to visit the local stores more often. Vesper finds flowers that she insists they must buy as a present for Q since he seems fond of them. When James refuses, Vesper gives him a sour look and turns to beseech Q. She wants them for herself, but sweetly suggests that they will add a beautiful touch to Q’s restaurant. They walk away with the dried lotus blooms covered in glitter.

A little while later, they indulge in a tea stall and spend twenty minutes choosing. Q purchases 50g bags of loose leaf for Vesper to try. James shakes his head.

When they reach the open fruit and vegetable stands, James shows Vesper how to select produce and they taste cheese off huge wheels and blocks.

They reach an herb stall run by a Vietnamese man. Q shows Vesper how to differentiate spices. James hangs back. He catches several older ladies coo at Vesper’s enthusiasm. She’s on her tip toes pointing at the various hanging bags and pouches. The ladies eye James, determine by his bored slackened face and easy slink that he is the father and compliment him accordingly.

“She is too precious!”

James offers a short smile. Q picks Vesper up so she can point at the jars in the back and the ladies smile knowingly.

James decides it’s time to go.

\--

Q is intimate with the workings of the Red Line. They take the train and walk the rest of the way. He gripes about not having a proper wet market and starts on about the use of waterways. Vesper is fascinated but James is grateful when they reach a small doorway he must’ve passed hundreds of times. A triangular awning and simple sign read _Q_ in a no frills font, probably _Helvetica_ , James muses.

Q turns the key and the door beeps. He rushes to the back through an aisle between bar seating and tables to disable the alarm. Vesper and James hover just inside. When Q returns, they are wiping off their feet on the mat.

“Welcome,” Q smiles and waves vaguely. “I’ll take this back to the kitchen.”

Vesper chases after him to help. James takes a look around. The would-have-been old store front is an open waiting space. One white couch with chartreuse throw pillows, a glass coffee table with rusted wheels for support and bench seating nestled into the bay window. The walls are exposed concrete with wood paneling only behind the bar.

James takes the same path, walking behind the high red spoon chairs and past the accent wall. Only two paintings hang on the back wall: one, an inverted cityscape and the other, a circle of black.

He steps into the kitchen. Q is leaning against the walk-in cooler. When he sees James, he lets off and Vesper pops open the door. She hisses at Q like a cat.

“What’d she do now?” James asks.

“Tried to take a peek at my recipe cabinet.”

“I said I was sorry!”

Vesper makes it up by helping Q prepare. The restaurant is still open for business so when his usual staff arrive they are shocked to find their chief in command standing by the stove with a little girl covered in chocolate. They don’t see James because he is kneeling to retrieve a saucepan.

Q introduces them all. Before they open, he conducts Vesper and James to the end of the bar. They have the best people watching spot. As customers arrive for lunch, Q starts with an explanation.  “Most people refer to the style I practice as _molecular gastronomy_ or _molecular cooking_. Technically, it’s a specific branch of food science. It means that I embrace technology and scientific methods to influence my cooking.”

Q smiles and starts setting up the dishes right in front of them. “It means making decisions about how you want certain components to feel or taste. For instance, eggs can have the same texture scrambled the old fashioned way as this.”

Vesper stares at the cube of fried egg. “It looks like tofu.”

Q finishes the dish: pierced soft boiled egg yolk topped with fresh chive, thin wafers of English muffin and a hollandaise sauce.  “Eggs Benedict.”

Vesper grins and the two tuck in.

They work their way through all-American favourites: mini BLTs comprised of croutons, fried tomato, candied bacon and a creamy green lettuce puree served with a side of home-made chips, chili hot dog bites – thumb sized nuggets of pork rolled in a cheese breading and topped with fiery chili powder, hamburgers like sushi, wherein Vesper and James had to consume the whole piece at once: a thin bagel crisp with sesame butter tossed in a mustard powder, stacked with a meat patty, slice of provolone, shoestring fried onion curls and of course relish dressing.

"Now _this_ is a Royale with Cheese," Vesper giggles.

James quirks an eyebrow.

Vesper explains, "Mom was watching _Pulp Fiction_ one night. I saw half of it before she found out I was awake and hiding behind the couch."

James shakes his head. "No more cult classics until you're sixteen."

They finish the meal and walk to Navy Pier. Vesper ogles the Ferris Wheel but does not ask to ride it. She does, however, insist on the photo-booth. It's much too small, so that despite Q and Vesper's combined skinniness, James still manages to act as a seat cushion for both. They succeed in systematically blinding themselves repeatedly. Vesper scrambles out and waits impatiently for the pictures to develop. Q brushes his lips against James' cheek. It's so light, James can't tell if it is intentional. Q touches James' shoulder to stabilize himself as he stands. They exit the booth.

Vesper is crouching by the slot making grabby hands. She can hear the machine spitting out the strips. She wiggles them out, looks at them, and flips them up for Q and James to see. Q squints. James searches.

All of them are smiling in the bottom photo and looking straight at the camera.

\--

When James enters his kitchen at _Skyfall_ the next day he’s shocked to find a series of monitors installed across the top of the rack where the utensils typically hang.

M enters and James rounds on her. “What the hell is this?”

M steps over to one of the screens where she taps the corner and they come to life. “We needed a more efficient way of doing things, so Matthew suggested we install computers. I don’t admit to knowing how most of it works, but he does well enough and the staff responded positively. This way we can always display menus, orders, and table arrangements.”

James wants to take M’s calm indifference and-

Q enters the kitchen with Eve. They’re having a cordial conversation about opera.

James says nothing.

\--

The dinner shift begins and M takes a moment to pull Q aside. "Thank you for those wine pairings, Matthew. I've had many compliments about the white."

Q nods. He knows that something is off when James makes a point to keep his utensils far from Q's workspace.

To make matters worse, M returns two hours later to ask Q out onto the floor. "Matthew, the Smiths?"

Q glances at James.

M notices and says, "James hates meeting with customers."

She leaves and Q watches James for a few seconds. When it's clear he refuses to acknowledge the situation, Q sighs, sets down his cloth and leaves.

As soon as he returns, James says, "You. Me. Now."

They go into the walk-in cooler. Q barely pulls the heavy door shut before James starts.

“I turn my back for two days and now you make recommendations, you change my menu, you tear apart my kitchen to put in your gadgets?” James snaps.

“Maybe I thought I could teach an old dog some new tricks,” Q folds his arms.

“You have your own fucking restaurant, Q. Why don’t you go run it instead of taking over mine?”

Q inhales and James is so close he can see the black well in Q’s eyes shrink and expand. He exhales and unties his apron.

“Alright.”

Q’s instant submission is not what James wanted, but it’s too late. He tries to continue his rant, anything to keep the heat moving, “This kitchen is my life.”

Q cuts him off, “No. This is a part of your life and if you would pay attention to the world and people around you, you would realize that being a chef is not the only thing you are good at being.”

James wants to kiss him. He doesn't know why. He can't bring himself to. Q can see the thoughts pass across his eyes. James leans closer, hesitating, listening for Q’s breathing. They hover. After ten cold seconds Q leaves.

\--

James sits in his office with the lights off. A strange calm has trained his body to consume the small decanter of whiskey without tasting it. He stares at the blackened monitor. He can almost make out a reflection.

Eve tips her head in. “G’night, James.”

James does a two finger dismissal.

It’s late. He needs to pick up Vesper and head home.

\--

“When can Q come over again?”

James looks up. Vesper has the remote in one hand and her elephant tucked under her arm. She’s turned off the TV.

“I don’t know.”

“He promised to watch the next _Die Hard_ with me.” Vesper frowns.

James feels the ends of his confidence fraying. The same unease from before…he knows he’s about to disappoint her. “Q and I had an argument.”

Vesper takes a moment to think about this. James can see the understanding click. Vesper says nothing. She sets the remote on the top of the couch and goes to her room. The door clicks shut and James sighs. He tips his head into his open hands and rubs his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

James has exhausted all his options. He calls Q.

“Vesper is missing,” James blurts. He isn’t panicking. He’s just driven past the school three times.

“Where are you?”

“The school.”

“Where did you see her last?”

“Here. This morning I dropped her off.”

“And the teachers didn’t see her leave?”

“She told them I parked around the corner.”

“Come get me.”

“What?”

“If you want my help you have to pick me up. I don’t have a car, remember?”

\--

Twenty minutes later Q slides into the passenger seat. He looks ruffled, but awake. It’s started to rain. His coat is barely speckled on the shoulders.

“Not at school. Restaurant?”

“No. I called. Sévérine hasn’t seen her. She’s going to keep watch.”

“Church? Playground or park? A friend’s house? It has to be within walking distance. Probably 30-45 minutes at most.”

James shakes his head. He puts the car into drive and merges into traffic toward the nearest park. “We don’t go to church. The only playground is the school’s, but there is a park close by.”

They assimilate into rush hour traffic, which only annoys James further. They’ve moved five feet in the past fifteen minutes.

“We’ll find her, James,” Q assures. His voice remains calm and flat, but his eyes are scanning the sidewalks and the platforms.

The rain picks up and James tightens his grip on the wheel. They’re within ten minutes of the school when he abruptly changes direction. He pulls a U-turn and Q flinches.

“I know where she is.”

\--

James turns into a driveway that winds around a short complex and mausoleum. Trees surround the path and the rolling hills are interrupted by gray markers. Behind these screens wrap the wrought iron fence of the cemetery’s boundary. The rain is steady, but not pouring. Q points through the windshield. “Up there. I can see her.”

James can make out Vesper’s hat from over a tombstone. He parks as close as he can and the two exit the car without another word. When they reach Vesper, she’s knelt in the mud by a placard. The tree above shields most of the rain, but some continues to dampen her already sodden hat, coat, and exposed hair.

“Vesper.” Q kneels beside her. The bottom of his coat furls under but he takes no notice. He sets a hand on Vesper’s shoulder. She looks up at him and he offers a slow smile. Vesper studies his eyes one at a time. Her fingers ball into fists and she punches Q in the chest. Q lets her. She does it again and again. When she tires herself out, she starts crying. Q says, “It’s alright. I know.”

And James realizes why Q is always moving, never stopping, always changing, constantly creating.

“I’m so angry,” Vesper hiccups, “all the time.”

James squats beside her. “I know what that’s like.” He doesn’t touch her, just exists beside her. “It’s alright to be angry, but we can’t let that paralyze us, make us forget to live.”

Vesper traces her mother’s name on the stone. “I’m worried I’ll forget her.”

Q says, “You’ll never forget her. I promise. There will be some days you don’t think about her at all, and you will feel guilty. There will be some days you can only think of her, and it will make you cry, but most days, when you least expect it, you’ll remember a part of her that will make you smile or laugh. That’s the best kind of remembering.”

James gently squeezes Vesper’s shoulder. “We can visit whenever you want.”

Vesper inhales a shuddering breath to steady herself. Finally she nods.

“Come on. Let’s go home,” James offers a hand. Vesper takes it. They stand up, willing the cold out of their stiff limbs and don’t look back.

\--

When they get back to the apartment, James carries a drowsy Vesper into the elevator where they make a small puddle. Q takes the keys from James and opens the door. He drops the keys onto the entrance table and goes to set up a warm bath. James takes Vesper’s coat, hat, scarf, and gloves and sets them out to dry. He scrapes their shoes and leaves them on the welcome mat to clean later. Once he’s certain Vesper is awake, he herds her into the bathroom and gives her a fluffy towel.

“You don’t want to catch a cold. If you need anything else, just call,” James says. Vesper drags the towel on the floor toward the tub and nods. James shuts the door and listens for the sound of water. He sighs and heads to the kitchen where Q already has a kettle on the stove.

Q still has his jacket on. For the first time, James notices his muddied suit underneath.

“Thank you,” James offers. “I’m sorry if I interrupted any plans.” Q turns and smiles briefly, a different smile than the one he gave Vesper and shakes his head. James stands beside him at the stove. He removes Q’s rain-speckled glasses. Without them, Q looks entirely different.

“Look, Q,” James starts, but Q holds up a hand.

“I thought about what you said. I own a restaurant. I should try running it for a change.” Q takes the glasses back and rubs them on the edge of his shirt. “The _Peninsula_ renewed their offer. They want to make an expansion on their east coast branch, to create a new full-scale restaurant. It could be mine.”

“That’s big.”

Q laughs and it’s more of a cough than anything. “Yes. I’d be moving out to Boston by the end of the week.”

James can’t do anything but nod.

Q adjusts his glasses on his nose and ears. “I can tell Vesper tomorrow.”

They wait in silence until the kettle boils. When it does, Q pours two cups of tea, one for James and the other for Vesper. He promises to stop by the next day after Vesper is finished with school and James is home from work. Q leaves before Vesper is done with her bath. James watches his back disappear down the stairs and listens for the outer door. It’s the first time he’s done that.

\--

Q comes over to watch _Die Harder._ He tells Vesper after the credits finish rolling and the screen goes back to the menu. Vesper doesn’t take the news well. James can tell because he can see the back of her head slide down the couch. Q leans over and whispers something to her. She straightens slightly, leans closer to him, and whispers something back. James decides to leave them alone, so he disappears into his room. Half an hour passes, then James hears doors shut.

\--

Two days later James has to complete some paperwork at the restaurant before he goes home.

He’s finishing up at his desk when he accidentally shifts the mouse and the computer buzzes to life. When the monitor warms up it displays a log in screen with a stock photo and a blank box for a password.

James doesn’t know why, but he decides to poke in a few passwords.

                _Skyfall_

_James Bond_

_Q_

Finally, the computer prompts him.

 _Hint: 6 letters, worth 11 points_.

James does not have the Scrabble letter values memorized, but he can hazard a guess.

                _Vesper_

The blue circle spins for a moment, and then: _Welcome, 007._

A black background and three icons greet him. A Recycling Bin, something called My Computer, and a tented manila folder with papers inside labeled Open Me. James navigates the mouse and does so. A new window consumes the screen, flooding it with word documents. There are over fifty. James selects one at random: “Panko-Crusted Whitefin”

It takes him a second to realize what he’s reading. It’s a recipe. _His_ recipe. He remembers scrawling it on the back of his receipt at a café in Monaco. But it is not just his recipe. Q has added his own modifications and comments in the margins. James can’t decide if he’s infuriated with this blatant invasion of privacy or-

He clicks another open.

“Candied Apricot Rum Trifle.” _Add pecans and a tbsp cayenne for a kick. Ground ginger should also work._

“Sun-dried Tomato Baked Penne.” _Instead of folding in the eggplant, julienne and roast in olive oil, salt, and white pepper to create complimentary chips._

Had Q tested all these recipes? How long had he been cataloguing? What did it-

Then James sees “Tiramisù” He hesitates a full ten seconds before opening it.

Inside is the basic recipe James had discovered at a tiny bakery in Vicenza. In the margins, Q’s comments dominate the page, but they are not alterations, they’re confessions:

_I am a dessert person._

_I smoke too much._

_I have too many kitchen tools. It started as a joke. It’s gotten out of hand. I regret nothing._

_I’ve read all your books. Your narrative is conceited, albeit informative._

_I made this recipe five times. Each time I tried to find something to change, to fix, to improve. In the end, I realized it was perfect as it was, in all its proportions, simplicities, texture, and taste. It is in every sense of the word,_ tirami sù _._     

\--

James gets Q’s address from M. She doesn’t say anything, just hands him the paper like she’s been expecting him to ask for weeks, but before he goes, he has to make one stop.

\--

He arrives at the standard Chicago row house near Lincoln Square. From the exterior it’s impossible to see how Q could live in a loft at the top. James walks down the alley and tries to find a bell at the side door.  He’s met by a gate, which swings open to expose another door. James finds it unlocked, either by miracle or habit. He walks the two flights to Q’s unit.

James inhales and knocks three times. The sound echoes throughout the apartment. He hears slippered feet on the other side. Then, the door opens with the chain still attached. A sliver of Q appears: the bridge of his glasses, a column of buttons down his shirt, and pajama pant drawstrings.

Q tilts his head up and his eyes widen. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing happens.

So James says, “I never take public transit.”

Q raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _that explains a lot_.

James continues, “I never drink. I never sleep in. I never force my shoes on. I never show up at a man’s apartment in the middle of the night with a business proposition.”

Q shuts the door in James’ face. He closes his eyes and sighs.

Then he hears the chain slide off and the door open again. He opens his eyes and Q is standing to the side holding the frame. He nods for James to enter.

James steps inside and Q closes the door. The lighting is dim. A laptop sits open on a square table, the source of a hypnotic wave like lull. Not music, white noise. The kitchen is stainless steel with stone worktops. Q shuffles across the wood floor to grab the mug from beside his computer.

“Here.” James hands Q the bag.

Q sets his mug down by the sink and reaches for the bottom of the bag. He pulls out a new pair of headphones and turns them over in his palm. “Good brand,” he compliments, knowing full well James just grabbed the most expensive set he saw. “Thank you.”

He motions for James to sit and sets a fresh kettle on the range. “So what’s this proposition then?”

James asks, "How do you feel about daily menu changes and conveyer belts?"


	8. Chapter 8

“Left. A little more. Almost. Yes there! No wait. Too far.”

Q’s squinting at the sign, gesturing with one hand and holding a thermos with the other when James pulls to the curb. He can tell the workers are fed up. James rolls down the passenger side window and calls out, “Q. Stop harassing and get in the car.”

Q purses his lips, but concedes. He gets into the seat and throws a look over his shoulder. “You remembered the gift?”

James pulls away from the sidewalk. In the rearview mirror he watches the sign _royale_ recede.

“Trunk.”

“You’ll break it!”

“Don’t worry. It’s sandwiched between the lobsters and the cooler.”

Q glares at James under the rim of his glasses. “You’re not serious.”

James smirks.

Q takes a drink from his travel mug.

They pull up to the school. Vesper waves at a few girls and gets in.

“Good day?” James asks.

“Yes.” Vesper throws her backpack onto the empty seat.

“New friends?” Q asks.

“Depends.”

“On…?”

“If I get to know them before they leave. They’re from France on an exchange and I only met them today.”

James looks at his niece in the rearview mirror. “If you’d like, they can come over for dinner.”

Vesper likes that idea and nods decisively.

“Just don’t force them to watch anything with Bruce Willis in it,” James adds.

Vesper laughs. “That’s not a problem. I’ve moved on to _The Transporter_.”

“When did this happen?” James glances at Vesper in the mirror again and then at Q.

Q seals his guilt by taking another drink and staring straight ahead.

\--

They arrive at Skyfall and unload the trunk. The dining room is decorated with streamers and flowers. Tanner puts the finishing touches on the table settings and Eve secures the _congratulations!_ banner above the archway. When Sévérine enters, her face glows. The women immediately crowd around the baby. Vesper compliments Sévérine on her hair and says that the baby is very sweet. M takes him into her arms with a faraway delight.

When the greetings finish, they situate themselves around the long table. Q has prepared several pizzas, the crispy European kind with prosciutto and artichokes, goat cheese and spinach, and bacon with mushroom. Sévérine cradles her newborn and M pours the drinks. When everyone has a glass, M stands.

"A toast," she lifts her glass. "To Hugo."

"To being able to drink again," James shares a look with Sévérine who scrunches her nose in a smile and adds," To _sushi_."

"To new beginnings?" Eve tries.

"To new beginnings," they echo and clink glasses.

"Yippie-ki-yay!" Vesper cheers.


	9. Recipe Appendix

**Recipe Appendix:**

I made up nearly all the recipes in this story off the top of my head, but some I pulled from the heart. Here are a few I have tested/enjoy and then a few of my personal favourites that weren’t included in the fic, but are nonetheless delectable. Have fun in the kitchen and let me know how they turn out for you! :D Remember, cooking times and temperatures will vary so be sure to watch, watch, watch! Also note, I work on a gas stove, have a very old oven, and use the Imperial measurement system. @.@

* * *

 

You will need…

  * Spatula (rubber and metal)
  * Wooden spoon
  * Hand mixer
  * Mixing bowls + measuring cups/spoons
  * 9” metal round pan, ¾” height
  * 9” x 9” square glass Pyrex pan
  * 9” x 12” Cookie sheet
  * Nonstick pan
  * Stainless steel bowls or anything heat proof to go over a simmering pot of water
  * Bread knife, standard vegetable/fruit knife, grater
  * Can opener
  * Food thermometer



* * *

_[Asparagus Cream Soup]_

Cream soup is not for everyone, especially not the lactose intolerant >.>; but for most people it is delishhh. Soups are heartier than people give them credit for, so beware! In small portions, this is great as an appetizer and the presentation is simple but lovely. ^-^

-

Ingredients:

  * 2 lbs fresh asparagus
  * 1 large yellow onion, chopped
  * 3 tbsp unsalted butter
  * 4 cps chicken or vegetable stock
  * 1 cp water
  * 2 tbsp ground thyme
  * 1 tbsp lemon juice
  * 1/4 cp heavy whipping cream
  * Salt & pepper to taste



-

Instructions:

  * Cut the tips of the asparagus 1.5" from the top, reserve for garnish
  * Cut remaining asparagus into 1/4" round pieces (make sure to cut the bottom and throw away)
  * Melt butter in saucepan and brown the onions and asparagus pieces (not the garnish ones!) with a pinch of salt and pepper.
  * Add broth, water, and thyme into the pot. Bring to boil, then reduce to simmer.
  * Cover and simmer until the asparagus is soft ~15 mins. Softer is better. (I really add whatever spices I have in the cabinet)
  * While the soup is simmering, boil a pot of water, bring down to just bubbling and blanche the asparagus tips that you will use to garnish (add a little salt to the water if you so desire). Drain and rinse the asparagus with cool water to stop them from overcooking. Set aside.
  * If you have an immersion blender, hooray! Use that sucker to blend the soup until it's super smooth. If not, you can pour the soup into a regular blender or food processor a little at a time (small batches better, seriously). Blend until smooth.
  * Pour back into pot, bring to low boil again, stir in the lemon juice and the heavy cream. Salt and pepper to taste.
  * Garnish with asparagus tips. Serve with toasted French bread or crackers!



 

 

* * *

 

_[Grilled Cheese + Tomato Soup]_

My version of grilled cheese growing up was a slice of Kraft American Singles microwaved between two pieces of white bread. When I got older and my best friend told me better, I realized I’d been missing out my entire childhood. I sought to rectify this by making legit grilled cheese with Campbell’s Tomato Soup. Eventually I also upgraded the soup (though most of the time I do still loved the canned!)

-

Ingredients:

\-----for the soup-----

  * 1 medium yellow or white onion, chopped
  * 2 cloves garlic, minced
  * ½ cp diced carrots
  * 1 28oz can diced tomatoes or 2-3 fresh tomatoes
  * 2 cp low-sodium chicken broth or vegetable broth
  * 1 tbsp sugar
  * 1 tbsp dried basil
  * kosher salt + black pepper to taste
  * ½ cp cream (optional)



\-----for the sammich-----

  * A crap ton of butter, roughly ½ stick, you can use margarine or spread butter
  * 1 loaf – crusty French bread/baguette (I like this because it means I can have more mini sandwiches vs. one big sopping mess, but many people like healthy grain-based breads! I don’t judge. ;) )
  * 1 block (16 oz) – extra sharp cheddar (again, choose cheese to your liking)
  * garlic salt or powder / parsley flakes (optional)



-

Instructions:

\-----for the soup-----

  * Heat olive oil in saucepan. Cook onion and garlic for 3 mins, then add carrots until veggies soft.
    * Protip: I will blanch/boil my carrots while caramelizing my onion and garlic so that it will be soft going in, as carrots tend to take a while to actually get soft and your onions & garlic could burn.
  * Add tomatoes, chicken broth, sugar, and basil. (I seriously add whatever spices I have in my cabinet most times, just a little of this a little of that. You can replace basil with a few bay leaves. Experiment!)
  * Bring to boil, reduce heat. Simmer 20 mins.
  * Add salt + pepper. Blend and puree.
  * Add cream if using. Serve with croutons!



\-----for the sammich-----

  * Slice the cheese into strips using either a grater or a knife. I like mine ~ ¼” thick x however long your sliced bread is
  * Slice bread at a diagonal to get more surface area. I usually make about 4-7 sandwiches with ¾ loaf.
    * Protip: You can freeze the extra sliced bread in a Ziploc bag and toast it on a rainy day!
  * Butter one side of each bread slice.
    * Protip: If you want to add extra pizzazz, you can mix your butter with a little garlic salt/powder and parsley flakes!
  * Turn your stove to a medium-high heat.
  * Use 1 tbsp butter to coat your nonstick pan.
  * Pan is hot enough when the butter starts to bubble, lay half of your sliced bread, butter-side-down (it should sizzle a little). If the pan isn’t big enough, just do two because you want to have enough space around the edges to flip the sandwiches.
  * Work quickly to lay your cheese strips onto each face. Then set the other sliced bread atop, butter-side-up.
  * Turn your heat to medium. Keep an eye on it. If it’s too hot (edges of bread are black/burning), turn down to medium-low. If there’s not enough butter, cut little pea sized chunks and slide them in from the sides. Use your spatula to shift the bread around so the butter can incorporate evenly.
  * Check the colour by wedging your spatula under a piece. If it’s a nice golden brown and the cheese has started to sweat, you’re ready to flip!
  * Once flipped, you can either leave the pan uncovered or cover it. You’re really just waiting for the cheese to melt and the other side to brown. The pro to covering is that it’ll help heat the sandwich through fast. The con is that it might lessen the crisp of your bread, but probably not by much. You can also counter that by toasting the bread first before buttering.
  * Once the cheese is melty, take the sammiches out and serve with soup. :D Eat immediately for all its glorious deliciousness!



 

 

* * *

 

_[Cheater Pumpkin Pancakes]_

EASY. If you like pumpkin and you don’t mind slightly denser pancakes, then this is the way to go! Top it off with some cinnamon whip or classic maple syrup and you’re a goner. Also, like bread, pancakes can be frozen and revived at a later date!

-

Ingredients:

  * 1 can (16 oz) pumpkin
  * 1 box bisquick or similar pancake mix
  * milk, eggs, water per box directions-



-

Instructions:

  * Follow pancake mix instructions.
  * Pancake batter is meant to be a little lumpy, so don’t worry about breaking up all the clumps.
  * Fold in the can of pumpkin.
  * Transfer batter into a measuring cup for easy pouring. Have a towel and plate ready because things will get messy.
  * The trickiest bit to making pancakes is the heating of the pan. You will inevitably lose the first two or three pancakes to stabilizing your pan’s temperature, so don’t fret! Just hide those ones or feed them to the dog. O.o Ideally, you want your pan to be medium heat.
  * No oil or butter is necessary on non-stick pans.
  * Pour to your heart’s content. I usually make silver dollar to medium sized pancakes. Aim for the final size to be your palm!
    * Protip: Work quickly to avoid the appearance of rings on the face of your pancakes.
  * Pancakes are ready to flip when they bubble on the top and the edges start to become firm/opaque. You never want to squish a pancake down once you flip it because you are popping the bubbles inside and making the pancake denser. The pancake will want to rise and bubble up. If you are worried, set your spatula gently on top of the flipped pancake (but really it's ok). If it’s exploding, then go ahead and squish it. <.<
  * The pancake is finished when the bottom is a nice golden brown.
  * Serve with fresh fruit, cream, and/or maple syrup!



 

 

* * *

 

_[Chocolate Cappuccino Chip Cheesecake]_

Oh. My. God. Cheesecake. If I could choose only one dessert for the rest of my life, it would be cheesecake, and let me tell you, this one is to die for. It’s probably my proudest creation. So please enjoy!

-

Ingredients:

\-----for the crust-----

  * 1 pack of Oreos
  * 5 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
  * 1 ½ cps sugar
  * 1 bag – 16 oz Semi-sweet chocolate chips



\-----for the filling-----

  * ½ cp heavy cream (if you don’t have this, you can substitute ¾ cp milk + 1/3 cp butter, though it’s not quite the same)
  * 4 tsp instant espresso powder or coffee powder
  * 1 ½ tsp vanilla extract
  * 4 8-oz packages cream chees, room temp
  * 4 large eggs
  * 2 tbsp all purpose flour
  * 1 cp (6 oz) semisweet chocolate chips (I might be a tad heavy handed on this one…)



-

Instructions:

\-----for the crust-----

  * Preheat oven 350 F.
  * Use a knife to remove the cream from each cracker. Crush the crackers into fine crumble.
  * Mix crackers, butter and ¼ cp sugar.
  * Press onto bottom of 9” dia. pan with 2.75” high sides
  * Bake crust 10 mins.



\-----for the filling-----

  * Combine cream, espresso powder, and vanilla in small bowl, set aside
  * Using electric mixer, beat cream cheese in large bowl until smooth
  * Gradually beat in remaining 1.25 cps sugar, then eggs one at a time
  * Beat in flour
  * Stir in espresso mixture until powder dissolves; beat into cream cheese mixture.
  * Stir/fold in chocolate chips using wooden spoon.
  * Pour batter over crust
  * Set a water bath (about 1-2 in water in a container) on the lower rack of your oven (use a cookie sheet or if you have a glass Pyrex pan with high walls to avoid splashing.)
  * Bake until edges are puffed and beginning to crack and center is just set, about 1 hr 5 mins
  * Cool on rack 30 mins
  * Chill cake uncovered until cold, about 6 hrs. Cover; keep chilled at least 1 day and up to 2 days in fridge. I usually can’t wait this long, but it’s worth it.



 

* * *

 

_Tiramisu:_

Well you knew this was coming, right? I made this recipe with my sister in Boston. We visited the local shops in the Italian neighborhoods to find the ingredients, but you can locate them at Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, World Market, etc… OR bake from scratch, though that’s super hardcore. @.@

-

Ingredients:

  * 24 ladyfingers, or Genoise (cut into strips)
  * 5 large eggs
  * 1/3 cp sugar
  * 1/3 cp sweet Marsala
  * 1 tbsp water
  * 12-14 oz mascapone, softened
  * 1/2 cp heavy cream
  * 2 tsp vanilla extract
  * 1.5 cps cool espresso, extra-strong coffee, or instant coffee made up
  * 2 to 3 tbsp rum or brandy
  * 2 to 3 tbsp sugar



-

Instructions:

  * Have ready 4 oz bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, grated
  * Preheat oven 350 F
  * Beat eggs and sugar on high speed in a medium heatproof bowl until thick and pale yellow ~2 mins.
  * Whisk in the Marsala and water
  * Set this bowl in a skillet of barely simmering water and whisk on low speed or beat by hand until the mixture reaches 160F.
  * Remove bowl from water and let cool 15 mins.
  * Combine the marscapone, heavy cream, and vanilla in a large bowl. Beat until soft peaks form.
  * Fold the cooked egg yolk mixture into the marscapone mix.
  * In a small dish, combine the espresso, rum/brandy, and sugar.
  * Dip half of the ladyfingers or genoise strips into the espresso mixture and arrange in your 9" x 9" Pyrex pan, or any container with tall sides. Unlike James, I enjoy a slightly firmer tiramisu, so I don’t soak my ladyfingers as long.
  * Arrange the ladyfingers with a little space between them in the pan. If they don't fit, don't worry, you can always layer more and also don't mind breaking them in half.
  * Spread half of the marscapone filling over and between the ladyfingers.
  * Sprinkle half of the grated chocolate.
  * Dip the remaining ladyfingers into the remaining espresso and repeat the layering process!
  * Sift a tbsp of unsweetened cocoa powder on top!
  * Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Up to 24 hours before serving.  (Psh, like anyone can wait that long).




End file.
